


So Happy Together

by Jwink85



Category: South Park
Genre: Abduction, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Control, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Relationship, Gaslighting, Horror, Isolation, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Breakdown, Mind Manipulation, Nostalgia, Obsession, Psychological Torture, Survival, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-01-02 12:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 124,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21161828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jwink85/pseuds/Jwink85
Summary: When Kyle wakes up to a nightmare, he has to decide whether to fight or fold; trapped in the home of a madman overrun with uncontrollable obsession.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I've been kicking around for awhile that I finally forced myself to sit down and start. It's based on a movie called Stay (from 2019); it isn't the best movie I've ever seen but the concept was interesting, even if the execution left something to be desired. I felt like they didn't tap into the abductor's motives enough, which is a shame bc i find that to be the most interesting aspect of a story like this. I'm all about obsession so it was right up my alley, though, lol.
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY! <3

_**Imagine me and you, I do** _  
_ **I think about you day and night, it's only right** _  
_ **To think about the <strike>girl</strike> boy you love and hold <strike>her</strike> him tight** _  
_ **So happy together** _

_**If I should call you up, invest a dime** _  
_ **And you say you belong to me and ease my mind** _  
_ **Imagine how the world could be, so very fine** _  
_ **So happy together** _

**\- Happy Together, The Turtles  
**

* * *

He smelled the room before he saw it; dry air, hints of salt, and the faint scent of lemons. Clean, almost sterile.

Unfamiliar.

Before he even opened his eyes, Kyle became aware of a faint hum thrumming in his ears, constant and low. It was a combination of a moan and a whine, the sound one would make deep in the back of their throat. It usually accompanied pain, this sound, but not the piercing kind; no, a pulsing ache like that of a throbbing tooth or a healing laceration that had been stitched up. After a few moments, he was able to figure out that he was the one making the pitiful noise, his larynx vibrating gently as the air rushed through it. This realization brought the first stirring of fear, settled deeply away inside of him but waking up now; coming to attention.

Somehow, he managed to wrench his eyelids open, each flap of skin feeling like it had been sealed shut with sleep dust or some kind of adhesive; weighing a million pounds. The light that hit his eyes was bright and white, clean like the smell of the room, but much too caustic. He wanted to shrink from it, his moan becoming louder as his pupils constricted. At first he thought he was lying under powerful lamplight, but it quickly became obvious that it was the sun pouring over him through gauzy curtains that resembled cream-colored mist; obscuring two tall windows on the far wall.

Quicksilver questions, frantically spoken by his inner voice, came to him then; unbidden but inescapable:

_Where am I?_

_Why am I here?_

_I can barely move. Why? Why the fuck can't I move?!_

Almost feeling like he was still asleep, he attempted to turn his head on the pillow and it was like trying to move a boulder. Faint throbs coursed through his temples as he finally succeeded, if only slightly, but the action left him feeling winded and frustrated. Sweat began collecting on his hairline and he could smell it too, his own odor; infused with slowly-growing terror. Flicking his eyes around, he tried to get his bearings as he studied his surroundings, but he couldn't recognize anything. He'd never been here before, he knew that much.

White ceiling with a slowly revolving fan with blades of dark wood; blue shadows skittering in the corners. The walls were bare and bald white. The bed he lay on was large and covered with a thick down comforter; also white. Glancing down, he saw that his feet were bare; pink skin stark against the coverlet. Otherwise, he was clothed in the same garments he'd worn to the bar: charcoal slacks that tapered to his ankles, white dress shirt (untucked, though he knew it had been tucked in before), even his belt was still in place.

But his socks and shoes were gone, as were his tie and his blazer. Through a herculean effort, he was able to lift his left arm enough to see that his watch (a moderately priced Fossil) was still on his wrist. He almost wanted to breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of it, not because he would've been truly upset if it had been gone, but relishing in anything smacking of familiarity at this juncture.

"So, you're finally awake," a deep voice drifted to him then, just out of his line of sight and to the right of where he lay. "Good. I was starting to worry."

That voice seemed to echo through long years that he hadn't visited in ages, but it struck a chord in his belly; down where the fear had awoken and was growing. It was like a stone that had been dropped into a spring that hadn't been accessed for centuries, sinking but fanning out ripples that grew and grew. He knew it, didn't he? It was too distinctive to be forgotten, but too far away to be immediately recognized.

Now he could've screamed at how difficult and sluggish his body was, barely responding when he tried to roll over so he could discover the source of the voice. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his hands into fists that shook with fear-tremors and anger at his obvious helplessness; overwhelming weakness. How could his own flesh and bone betray him when he needed all of his strength; absolutely needed all of his faculties at his disposal? For all he knew, he'd been spirited away to a place where he'd be tortured and eventually murdered, and he couldn't even muster up the strength to roll over. The cruelty of the situation made him want to scream, but he couldn't even find his voice, that watery moan breaking through his lips in little fits and starts.

"Relax, it's okay. I'll come to you," the voice soothed him, and now it was coming closer. First, there was a soft plunk like something was being laid aside, and then a rustling, footsteps, and finally new weight was making the edge of the bed sag; a sudden presence very close to Kyle accompanied by a foreign warmth that bled through his thin shirt. He cringed automatically but a hand was laid on his arm, gentle and attempting to be reassuring, clearly.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Can you look at me?"

Kyle bit his lip before trying again, only able to roll his head a fraction to his right; eyes straining to pick up the man in his peripheral. Even then, he could only see a fraction of him; a tease, really.

_I almost feel like I'm paralyzed...you know when your brain wakes up before your body does? Like that._

"Here, let me help you." Cool hands were taking hold of the sides of Kyle's head, turning him enough that a man's face came into view, and it was as familiar as that distinctive voice. Still, Kyle couldn't place this person, which only added to his pervasive feeling of helplessness. "Is that better?"

"I know you, don't I?" Kyle managed to croak, the very act of talking exhausting him. He almost winced at the sound of his own voice; the ancient, cracked quality of it, like it belonged to a man fifty years his senior. "I have to, right?"

The man appeared pleased, though his eyes had a grave cast to them. Kyle thought it might have something to do with their color: a silvery gray, almost a pewter shade. They made him think of mirrors and bodies of water under winter skies, not exactly cold, but holding a sterile, remote quality. His face was angular, high cheekbones and forehead; black hair meticulously pushed away from his brow and styled neatly. Jaws covered in faint stubble gave him a masculine darkness, and his nose was sloped; a little long. Over all, he could be considered handsome, Kyle realized. In fact, he had qualities that reminded him of someone else, but he didn't want to think about him at a time like this...he was already afraid; he couldn't stomach being sad, too.

"I'll tell you who I am, if you'd like," the man said wryly, smiling suddenly; pearly teeth flashing. One incisor was slightly crooked, but it was endearing instead of being distracting. "But, yes, we know each other, Kyle."

The sound of his name made him start, jerking suddenly. It would've been different if he could remember who this person was, but they were at an advantage for now; simply by being able to use Kyle's name against him. It held a certain amount of power, an intimacy, that made the sweat bead at his temples now.

"What happened?" he asked, his throat tightening like he was being choked. "Why am I here? What the fuck is going on?"

The man watched Kyle passively as the invisible chains began to loosen slightly, his limbs like lead but reacting now when he pressed against the bed. His head was screaming at him to stay still, a headache gathering in his skull that nauseated him, and he became aware of the taste of old whiskey resting on his tongue, along with something he couldn't name; a medicinal, bitter residue. His muscles were tight in his thighs and biceps and neck, and dull pains were coming alive in places that heretofore he'd ignored.

"I can't remember anything," he whimpered, trying to wrack his memory of the night before but nothing was loosening. He could recall that last drink at the bar before parting with a misguided, disappointing Tinder date, hurriedly sucking it down, scooping up his bag, and starting the walk home. True, he'd been pretty drunk, but not so wrecked that he couldn't make it back to his condo. He'd almost considered getting an Uber but it had been a nice night, and the harbor was full of people and light. He was sure he'd be fine. After all, he'd made the trek countless times...rounding the water and passing by the flat-topped, green layer cake that made up Federal Hill. His place was just beyond it...he could walk there in his sleep.

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't have put his earbuds in so he could listen to music, but that was standard for him. He pretty much walked everywhere, to work, to the bars...music was a necessity. Sure, it made it so he wasn't necessarily on his guard, but he'd always felt reasonably safe.

"Calm down," the man said, laying a hand on Kyle's forehead and wiping away some of the sweat. "You don't want to get worked up too quickly; not after the night you've had."

Narrowing his eyes, Kyle's focus fell on that crooked incisor again, crazily thinking that it was the key to placing this person; more so than their familiar voice or features. In the white sunlight, it looked sharp, like it belonged in the mouth of a predator instead of a man. This thought made his stomach seize up, a dry heave erupting from between his lips.

"I-I think I'm going to be sick," he eked out, trying to reach up so he could take a hold of the man's shirt. Instead, his arm remained useless; a plank of wood at his side. "Please, I don't want to -" he cut off when he dry heaved again, shutting his eyes as tears started to build in them.

"Shh, it's going to be alright," the man soothed him, gently sliding an arm under Kyle's upper back; his other arm creeping to cradle his legs. Deftly, he lifted Kyle like he was nothing more than air, angling him so that his head was nestled against his chest. Spicy cologne clung to the stranger's clothes, wrapping Kyle in its wild, cloying fragrance.

Soon enough, Kyle found himself being taken into a bathroom adjoining the bedroom, white and sterile as the place they'd been in before. It smelled of lemons, a dish of decorative shell-shaped soaps sitting on the counter next to the sink. The only splashes of color in the room were the shower curtain and a mat on the floor, both a shade of deep blue. The walls were conspicuously bare.

"Here," the man said while placing Kyle gently on the floor in front of the toilet. He opened the lid before passing a hand through Kyle's hair, sweeping his sweat-drenched bangs off of his forehead. "Are you okay to be by yourself, or should I stay?"

Kyle sagged against the toilet before he clutched at it, cold perspiration drenching him as the nausea heightened. Moaning, he leaned his head against porcelain reeking of bleach, taking deep, long breaths before he could manage to speak.

"I don't want you to see me being sick," he replied in a thick voice, another heave breaking up his words. He could taste bile and old whiskey in his throat. "I just need a minute, I think...is that okay?"

"Of course, just let me know if you need anything." The man stood for a moment longer, just staring down at him before he finally turned away and left, leaving the door wide open.

"Oh, God," Kyle nearly sobbed as he retched again, but this time the scant contents of his stomach began to come up, pouring into the toilet. Shame washed over him, the instinctive need to cover up his illness and vulnerability making him clench his hands harder on the receptacle's rim. He prayed to be completely emptied out so all of this could end, so he could focus more on what was truly important; figuring out where he was and how he'd gotten there.

Instead, he continued to retch and writhe, the coolness of the tiles beneath him obvious through the thin fabric of his slacks. He vomited until he felt hollow, gasping softly when he was finally spent, a trembling hand reaching up to flush the toilet before he closed the lid. With the last of his strength, he draped his upper half over the seat, spots appearing before his eyes as he drifted; eyes half-closed. His breath rattled in his raw throat, sounding like overworked, rusting machinery.

"Let's get you back to bed," the man said as he walked back into the room, Kyle's vision blurring as he felt strong arms gathering him up again.

"Wait," he whined, weakly straining against the man's hold. "I need to..." he flushed before nodding his head at the toilet, feeling humiliated; reduced to being a helpless, fretful child. "I can't hold it."

"I should've thought of that, forgive me," the man replied, lifting the seat again and helping Kyle to undo his belt and slacks; respectfully looking away when Kyle sat to urinate. Soon, he was done and put to rights, back in the man's arms and just wanting to disappear. As they passed by the mirror, he managed to turn his head, horrified at his reflection.

"How did I -" he whispered, taking in the sight of his pasty skin; only appearing paler compared to the bruise around his left eye; his bottom lip swollen and split.

"You have a nasty bump on the back of your head too," the man commented before turning off the light, his voice grim. "You're lucky I came along when I did."

"What happened? Please, just tell me."

"I think you need to rest first, don't you? You look like you're about to pass out." Laying Kyle on the bed, the man took up a moist washcloth and began to dab at his forehead and face; clearing away the dried sweat. "Do you want some water?"

Kyle nodded, immediately regretting the action as his head began to swim; the throbbing in his temples pulsing like tiny heartbeats. He mouthed at the bottle desperately when it was placed to his lips, nearly hysterical when his thirst was fully awakened; arid mouth sucking up the fluid like parched earth drinking in much-needed rainfall. He watched the stranger with heavy-lidded eyes as he drank, gaze lingering on that incisor again, but also surprised at the look of indulgence on the man's face; like he was nursing a baby bird.

"At least tell me your name," Kyle said, talking around the washcloth as the man wiped his mouth. "I keep thinking I'll remember on my own, but I'm too tired."

A playful smirk hid the man's teeth before he answered. He laid the washcloth aside.

"Actually, I think it'll be more fun for you to remember by yourself, Kyle. Wouldn't that be more satisfying?"

"None of this is satisfying," Kyle snapped, attempting to sit up before he really thought about it. The man easily pushed him back down, all the while covering him with the white coverlet.

"Sleep," the man said simply. "I'll be right here." Settling into a chair in the corner, he took up a book and opened it; a battered copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

"Please," Kyle pleaded, almost crying now. "I need to know what's going on...I can't sleep if I don't even -"

"That's enough." The stranger shifted in his chair and crossed his legs, not looking up from his book; his tone darkly stern. "I said it's time to sleep. It'll be good for you, and when you wake up, I'll answer all of your questions. I promise."

"But -"

Now the man lifted his eyes, making Kyle's voice die in his throat when he saw the look in them; icy, forbidding. They were muddled with what had to be a quiet, resolute malevolence; conjuring up new potent terror in Kyle's gut. He almost recoiled, mouth falling shut as he watched; heart hammering painfully behind his sternum. Minute trembles worked their way up his body, gathering as their gazes locked and converged. When the man suddenly smiled, he nearly screamed, at the suddenness of it; the quick turn of emotions in the man's demeanor.

"Sleep," he repeated. "Trust me. It's for the best."

\-----

Eventually, Kyle did sleep, but it was a hard-won fight, even though he was terribly exhausted. He found himself flitting through snatches of half-slumber, opening his eyes on occasion to see the light in the windows becoming duskier until it disappeared completely, a lamp on the side table taking the place of the sun. It illuminated the man in the corner, who attended to Kyle when he stirred, mumbling incoherently before being offered drinks of water and at one point, a bowl of steaming vegetable soup. The cloth was pressed to his face regularly, clearing the stickiness from his skin, the man even being kind enough to dose him with ibuprofen to help ease his aches.

It wasn't until the medicine kicked in that Kyle was able to sleep somewhat comfortably, groggily coming to and almost feeling rested. He had dreamed but it hadn't been helpful or comforting. If anything, his dreams had only compounded his fears, the visions filled with long teeth that kept falling out of his mouth; only to grow back and fall out again. Opening his eyes, he stared at the golden-washed ceiling with the shadows in the corners, fully expecting the man to come to him as soon as he whimpered, but nothing happened.

Weakly, he turned his head and saw that the man was fast asleep in his chair, head resting on his hand as he softly snored; the book open in his lap. Kyle stared at him, waiting for him to awaken but he didn't move, clearly sleeping deeply. His face was smooth and infuriatingly familiar, but Kyle still couldn't remember him. Like a dream, a memory would stir in his head and he would try to capture it, but whenever he went to reach for it it would recede; dragged under dark waters inside of his brain.

Looking away, Kyle pulled on all of his resolve before he tried to lift his arm, almost weeping with joy when he could actually move it. It hovered above the bed before it began to tremble, dropping back into place before he tested the other arm. Like before, he was able to move it, though the very act was enough to nearly wipe him out. Still, he counted this as a monumental achievement. Tenuous hope stirred in his belly when he was able to slowly kick the covers off of himself, until he saw that he'd been undressed down to his boxers and white undershirt; finally noticing that even his watch had been removed.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, his voice so low it was more a stream of choppy breath than actual words.

He glanced at the man again, elated that he was still asleep before he began to roll back and forth, finally turning his body until he made it to the bed's opposite edge. Extending a leg, he groped for the floor until his foot found it, the carpet rough against his skin. Holding his breath, he pressed down and lifted himself, still too tired to stand but able to drop to the floor, the bed standing between him and the man now, shielding him from view. Gasping softly, he sat for a moment, hands resting on the carpet before him, his body hunched as he caught his breath. It wasn't until he was turning his head to look at the window that he noticed the heaviness around his throat, taking him aback.

Groping fingers felt slick metal circling his neck, smooth and digging into his skin as he tried to figure out what it was. He yanked on it but it didn't budge, all of the air being sucked out of his lungs when he came to a padlock keeping the article firmly in place; heavy-duty and serious. The lock was clearly designed for keeping trunks and storage units shut tightly, so to find it dangling between his clavicle was more than he could stomach. Digging his fist into his mouth, Kyle had to swallow back a ragged cry of absolute horror; willing himself to stay quiet so he could have a prayer of getting out of this situation alive.

Ignoring his bone-deep weariness, Kyle dragged himself onto his hands and knees, frantically crawling to the window so he could look out. Drawing back the curtain, he almost felt like he was hallucinating when he saw a stretch of sandy beach and the ocean crashing beyond it, the moon sagging like a bloated silver dollar above the waves. He blinked rapidly but the picture remained the same, the navy blue water taunting him while it lapped the shore, the tide going out as the night declined.

"Pretty, isn't it?" A voice spoke very close behind him, and he turned, clutching at his mouth to keep in a rising scream. The man was standing there, looking out at the water as well; eyes almost dreamy and still filled with the last vestiges of slumber. "I never get tired of looking at it. What about you?"

Wordlessly, Kyle shook his head, sliding along the floor and pushing himself against the wall; anything to put more distance between himself and the man. His eyes flitted to the door on the far side of the room, a flash of hallway just beyond it. When he looked back at the man, he was smiling at him knowingly.

"I take it you're feeling better, huh? See? I told you sleep would help."

"T-the ocean is three hours away, at least," Kyle said, looking at that crooked incisor again. A picture flared in his mind like a Polaroid flash; a young boy with a mouthful of silver, shining braces. He pushed it away, too terrified to dwell. "Why would you bring me here? What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

The man clucked his tongue, obviously not pleased.

"I don't think I like your tone, and that sort of language is beneath you, Kyle," he chastised. "You know better."

"Oh, screw that," Kyle barked, reaching up to take a hold of the padlock. He shook it. "And what is this, huh? Why did you put this thing around my neck?!"

"Behave and you'll never have to find out what it is," the man replied, shrugging a little, "or what it does. That seems fair, don't you think?"

"You...you can't be serious," Kyle whispered, slowly beginning to drag himself along the perimeter of the room, never taking his eyes off of the man, who impassively watched. "Do we even know each other, or were you lying to me about that?"

"We know each other. How else would I know your name?"

"My wallet, genius. Christ, I even have my social security card in there...you could find out anything about me if you wanted."

"That's fair," the man conceded, sitting on the bed but making no move to detain Kyle. "But we do know each other, even if you can't remember me. Yet, anyway."

"I don't want to remember you," Kyle spat, pushing himself off of the wall and beginning to crawl across the floor; wanting to scream as his body fought him every second. "I want to get the hell out of here. Now!"

"Kyle," the main replied, beginning to sound apologetic as he dug in his pocket. He withdrew a tiny remote control and held it up, Kyle's blood running cold just at the sight of it; not knowing what it was but knowing it couldn't be good. Nothing good could come out of his current circumstances.

Stopping, Kyle stared at it, almost like he was hypnotized; eyes flickering to meet the stranger's on occasion.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said quietly. "I've never wanted to hurt you, okay? I brought you here because I want to help you. Won't you let me?"

"You're crazy," Kyle replied, beginning to back away; scooting closer to the door. "I don't want your help...I don't want anything from you. I'm leaving."

The man sighed before dragging a hand across his eyes, mouth set and firm. He nodded.

"I figured it'd be like this until I could make you understand. So be it." Turning, he gestured to the door. "I'll let you make the decision then, since we're both adults here. You can either listen to me and do as you're told, or you can keep heading for the door and risk being corrected."

He stopped, allowing his words to sink into Kyle's brain; fueling his growing hysteria.

"What's it going to be, Kyle?"

It was almost like Kyle could feel his mind splintering in that moment, the man's statement hanging heavy in the air between them as they regarded one another. Out of nowhere, the air conditioning kicked on, startling him, the scream he'd held in before leaping out of his mouth and filling the silence; ricocheting off the walls. He clapped a hand to his mouth but not before he was jolted forward by a shock so great he couldn't comprehend it for a moment. It coursed through him, making him gasp with a silent, awful pain; mouth hanging open as he panted like an overheated dog.

"Wha...?" he said groggily, feeling boneless when the pain abated. He lifted his head to stare at the man, pleading with his eyes for some sort of explanation. When he remained silent, Kyle felt a cold sweat break out along his back; the hair standing up on the nape of his neck as he reached for the collar again, and he knew...he just _knew_, the realization like a knife tearing through his unsettled guts.

"A shock collar," he whispered, eyes widening. He sat with this new knowledge for a moment before he began to panic and flail, reacting the way a cornered, trapped animal would; mindless and deluged in so much fear that their heart could burst from the terror alone. He tore at the collar even though he knew he couldn't rip it off, but he had to try, knowing on a visceral level that if it had been wrapped around his arm he would've simply chewed the appendage off.

"Kyle! Calm down!" The man cried, finally moved to react when Kyle became completely unglued. "You're going to hurt yourself if you don't stop! It reacts when you raise your voice too - "

"Get away from me!" Kyle screamed when the man tried to approach, momentarily breathless when the collar shocked him again, but not enough to stop. If anything, it fueled him until he couldn't see straight; lips peeled back to scream nonsense in the hopes that someone anywhere would hear him and come to his rescue. "Help! I'm in here and he's crazy! HELP! HELP! Somebody fucking HELP ME -"

Wrapping his arms around himself, Kyle lapsed into silence when the agony became too great, and he was left to writhe on the floor as he curled into the fetal position. The pain seemed to be endless, washing over him in waves that made him seize up, mouthing wordlessly as the man stood over him; face grave.

"Why didn't you listen to me?" he asked softly. "I wasn't lying when I said you'd hurt yourself!"

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!" Kyle yelled, inviting the pain again but preferring it over hearing the man speak; continuing to shriek even when darkness started to edge into his vision. He screamed and screamed, almost like he couldn't stop; primal outcries working their way up as he tapped into the animal part of himself. His lizard brain, motivated only by survival and raw, unadulterated fear, commanded him to scream even as his mind started to shut down, finally pushing him into blackness completely; managing, in his own small way, a chance at temporary, blissful escape.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow build, but I'm having fun (awkwardly) fitting the pieces together, lol
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY <3
> 
> PS: sorry if this is awful, I tried! xD

_**Please forgive me, I know not what I do** _   
_ **Please forgive me, I can't stop loving you** _   
_ **Don't deny me, this pain I'm going through** _   
_ **Please forgive me, if I need you like I do** _   
_ **Please believe me, every word I say is true** _   
_ **Please forgive me, I can't stop loving you**   
_

**-Please Forgive me, Bryan Adams**

* * *

The wooden floor stretched on for miles; dark, shining. It reflected the white sunlight glimmering through windows comprised of multiple squares of immaculate glass.

He could feel the hardness of the floor as he sat on it, legs bent and open, a dull silver bucket nestled between his thighs. His hands were resting on the rim as he considered the questions:

Should he tip it over?

Should he leave it be?

He had to admit that he was curious about simply dumping it out...overriding his common sense and just giving into his impulses. It would be easy enough to peer into the bucket to discover its contents, but was that really enough?

He decided it wasn't, because on some level he was aware that he craved destruction; controlled, calculated destruction. 

Before he could stop himself, he was pushing the bucket over, and he watched it fall almost in slow motion, until it struck the floor with a resounding metallic clatter that rang on and on ceaselessly. 

Fascinated, he could see water seeping out in a clear tide, roaring and frothing, currents pouring over the floor that stretched so far away; never ending. With it came the orange flames of fluttering, gasping fish, panicked and flailing as they came to rest, dying one by one as they choked; extinguished like helpless stars. 

Kyle could only watch silently the scene he'd created, the ringing of the fallen bucket shrieking dagger-like through his head until he started to scream, hands clasped to his ears while his brain detonated inside of his skull. 

_Just stop just stop just stop just stop stop stop stop why won't the ringing stop please God -_

He blinked rapidly, sobbing awake though he hadn't realized he'd been trapped in a dream; eyes parting as he gasped to be back in the large bed covered with the soft white comforter. He was lying on his side, head deep in the pillow, and he was staring at a golden alarm clock as it screamed relentlessly. The time was 8 a.m. and the air was chilled, the room soaked in gray shadows. 

The ringing of the clock only compounded the surrealism of an already unbelievable situation, its sound pulling him home to his own bed and surroundings, but the illusion was quickly shattered when Kyle shifted, the action creating the tinkling clank of iron. Under the covers he could feel heaviness around his wrists and ankles to match the weight settled on his throat, the sensation pushing a sob from his lips; yet another helpless whimper.

Tearing his gaze from the clock, Kyle's eyes caught on the serpentine trail of a chain that lay on his pillow. It wrapped itself around the plain metal headboard behind him, round and round and secured with a heavy padlock. He pulled his arms almost involuntarily and sobbed again when they barely moved, the metallic din wafting out from under the coverlet to taunt him. 

"So you wouldn't hurt yourself if you woke up in the middle of the night," a deep voice said, nearly lost in the ongoing ringing of the alarm. The man came into view then, almost making Kyle cringe. Delicately, he shut off the clock and plunged the room into silence before smiling down at Kyle tenderly. "How did you sleep?"

The man's crooked incisor looked especially wicked in the timid morning light, only furthering Kyle's nearly hysterical terror. The weariness of sleep fled from him immediately as he wordlessly stared, not wanting to speak because he wasn't sure he could do so without screaming, and he clearly remembered the consequences of raising his voice. Instead, he sunk into silence, waiting. Anger simmered along with his fears, making him clench his hands into tight, shaking fists.

"You weren't restless," the man said, clearly choosing to ignore Kyle's refusal to speak. "I didn't stay with you the whole night but you seemed to be sleeping pretty deeply before I left. Are you feeling okay?"

Again, Kyle didn't answer, fixing his eyes on the man until he shook his head, lips quirked with amusement. It would seem he wanted to treat this situation as if it were perfectly normal, as if Kyle were there because he wanted to be, not because he was being forced.

_Or maybe_, Kyle thought, a terrifying prospect coming to him as the man pulled the comforter off and away, _he isn't pretending. Maybe to him this _is_ normal._

It was when Kyle saw the horrible cuffs around his wrists that he finally made a sound, a tiny squeak of breath as the man gently lifted his arm to appraise it. He tutted softly before settling it back on the pillow, crouching so that he was eye level with the helpless boy trapped in the large bed.

"You pulled," he nearly sighed, frowning. "They hurt, don't they? Your wrists? And I'm sure your ankles do too."

A sickening sensation erupted in Kyle's stomach at these words, a tiny implosion in his middle that made him pull involuntarily, legs kicking slightly and upsetting the metal around his ankles; the clinking drifting into the air and melding with the sound of rainfall outside. The trapped animal feeling caused him to spasm violently, jerking against his restraints until he had to stop from exhaustion; gasping softly and sweat beading on his forehead and on the back of his neck. His body hurt, his head and neck especially, but now there was new bright pain in his extremities; a burning sharpness like he was slowly being cut into.

"Stop," the man said gently, dragging a hand over Kyle's forehead to clear the gathering of sweat. "Just stop. Let me take care of you."

"I don't want you to," Kyle croaked, arching away from the offending hand; sickened at the very thought of it. "Get away. I hate when you touch me."

His voice was as rusty and creaky as the hinges of a garden gate that had fallen into disrepair. Speaking was painful and a trial, but to stay silent when the man was fondling him so freely...it was too much. This whole situation was proving to be far more than he could endure.

"Why are you doing this? What do you even want from me?" he asked, managing to keep his voice level, almost shaking with the effort.

"Right now I want to help you feel better," the man replied simply, standing and turning to walk away. Kyle followed him with his eyes, wanting to keep him in his sights as much as possible. He went into the bathroom and snapped on the light and before too long the sound of rummaging in drawers and cabinets could be heard until he returned, carrying a small container and a washcloth.

"Here," he said, setting the articles down before producing a set of keys from his pocket, along with the little black remote control. This he set aside as well before unlocking the cuffs, almost watching with a quiet satisfaction as they slid from Kyle's wrists to lay in a pile on the bed. "Better?" he asked, smiling widely.

Kyle was readying himself to strike when the man smoothly reached for the remote and washcloth, carefully beginning to dab at the welts on Kyle's arms. Kyle eyed the remote with slow-simmering fear, so preoccupied that he almost didn't notice when the man began rubbing antibiotic cream into his wounds; cool and comforting. Soon enough, the sting was receding, but that didn't really bring Kyle any comfort, even as the man shifted to focus his attention on his raw ankles.

Every nerve in his body crackled with anticipation when he saw that the man was no longer holding the remote, but something held him in place either way. He wasn't being restrained any longer, could jump up and run away if he chose, but the thought filled him with such potent dread that it was almost like he was still cuffed and helpless. Just seeing the remote laying so close to the man's hand, not even a finger's length away, was enough to make him freeze until his muscles began to stiffen up.

_He's in my head. He has to know he's already in my head._

"There," the man said, patting the bandages he'd wound around Kyle's ankles as he sat back. "Good as new, wouldn't you say?" He glanced at him, boyish happiness taking some of the sharpness from his features, rendering him almost innocent in appearance. Thoughtfully, he picked up the remote and began to toy with it, the action making Kyle's heart jump like it was being manipulated with an invisible string.

"Are you ready for breakfast? I made coffee."

Kyle slowly sat up, aching from the effort, laughter bubbling up his throat at the question, the wholesome normalcy of it. He was starting to think that he was merely hallucinating this whole scenario, or perhaps he was trapped in a fever dream and he simply couldn't wake up, but who could even say? If it was a dream it was going on for far too long, had already worn out its welcome, and if he was hallucinating....

But he couldn't be, right? The pain in his body was too pronounced and the details were too sharp in his surroundings. No, this was all too real, too hatefully, overwhelmingly real. Now he did laugh, clutching at his mouth as he doubled over, overcome with surrealism and the awful hilarity of it all.

"Sure," he finally managed to say, little giggles bursting like bubbles as he tried to retain his composure. "Why not? I'd love to have a cup of coffee with the guy who abducted me. I mean, wouldn't anyone want that in my position?"

The stranger's smile dropped from his face abruptly, but he only nodded. Standing, he slipped the remote into his pocket before looking toward the bathroom.

"I'm guessing you need to use it."

"Yep," Kyle replied, pressing his feet against the floor before managing to stand shakily, unsteady legs like cooked noodles beneath him. He faltered and nearly fell, recoiling when the man stepped in to hold him up.

"I'm sorry," he said unexpectedly, letting go as soon as he saw that Kyle could keep his feet. "I'm not trying to paw at you...I just didn't want you to fall."

"Right," Kyle said, not really believing him, finding this statement more disturbing than reassuring. Hugging himself, he skirted around the man and disappeared into the bathroom, stopping to stand in front of the mirror and regard himself for a moment. He looked wrecked just as he expected he would; hair matted and skin a dull white, his freckles standing out like sharp brown pinpoints. He studied his black eye and ruined lip, groping through his cloudy memory and trying to figure out where they'd come from, but nothing materialized; like his mind was a slate wiped clean. His gaze momentarily focused on the collar around his throat but he didn't dwell, eyes skipping away as he tried to convince himself it wasn't there at all. No, it was merely a figment of his addled, mixed-up imagination.

Shivering, he tried to ignore that he was only dressed in his white undershirt and boxers, the chill of the room clinging to him as he used the toilet. Looking around, he was once again taken with just how bare the bathroom was, going so far as to pull back the shower curtain to see it empty; devoid of even soap or toiletries. It was almost like being in a scrubbed-clean hotel room, empty and impersonal. It provided as much insight into its owner as the man himself; giving nothing back and absolutely blank.

"Are you almost done in there?" the man called, shaking Kyle from his thoughts. "Did you need anything?"

_Yeah, I need you to leave me the fuck alone, you crazy prick. Oh, and let me go while you're at it; that'd be great._

"I'm fine," he snapped, finishing and quickly washing his hands. Impetuously, he slowly began opening the cabinet and drawers to see if there was anything in them that could aid in his escape but they were hatefully bare, just like the rest of the room. The realization made him bite his lip with frustration, chewing until he tasted faint threads of blood.

"I don't really keep this bathroom stocked," a voice spoke beside him, making him jump back. Looking up, Kyle saw the man in the doorway, watching him impassively. "It's just for guests, so..." he shrugged indifferently, "I don't have a lot of people over."

"I'm shocked," Kyle muttered, slamming a drawer shut so violently it made the mirror shiver lightly. Savagely, he wished it would've shattered so he could use the shards as weapons, hands flexing at the very notion.

"I have clothes for you to wear, if you'd like," the man said, ignoring Kyle's sarcasm. "Come see."

Reluctantly, Kyle followed the man to the dresser, watching as he slid a drawer open. There were stacks of shirts waiting there, along with a dark hoodie. He opened the other drawers, revealing boxers, socks, jeans -

"They're all in my size," Kyle whispered, lifting a pair of jeans and checking the label. Looking up, he stared at the man as his hands began to shake. "W-why do you have...?" he stopped short, not even wanting to finish the question. What did it matter? Any answer the man gave would only make him more afraid, wouldn't it?

"Get dressed," the man soothed, slipping his hand into the pocket where the remote was being kept. "And then you can eat something. It'll help."

Kyle did so, turning away and feeling ashamed as the man watched, very aware of his eyes boring into him as he slipped on the jeans and then a frail green t-shirt.

"Why do you have to watch me?" he finally asked because he couldn't stop himself, tears burning but not falling as he stared at the floor. "I'm not planning on doing anything -"

(_yet_)

" - so why can't you give me some space?"

The pattering of rain was light, almost musical, when the man didn't immediately answer, setting Kyle's teeth on edge until he wanted to scream.

"I like looking at you," he finally said, almost like he was talking about something mundane; the weather, his plans for the weekend. "I've always liked looking at you, Kyle. I'm sorry if it bothers you."

"You're sorry," he muttered, slowly turning but keeping his eyes on the floor. "Well, that just makes everything all better, doesn't it?"

The man didn't answer, going around Kyle and gently beginning to herd him toward the door. Appalled at being so close to him, Kyle began to walk, back ramrod straight as he stepped through the doorway, anxiety spiking in his gut as he left behind the only room he was even remotely accustomed to; almost doubling back so he could stay a little longer. Realizing this reaction was sick, twisted even, he once again bit down on his lip until he made the tiny wound burst open, flooding his mouth with a metallic flavor. He groaned, dragging his eyes up from the carpet.

The hallway was dim, speckled with branches of weak sunlight; walls white and lacking decoration. Before too long, they were passing into what was clearly the living room, a cozy enclosure with large picture windows that showcased the crashing, turbulent ocean. Through them, Kyle could see a deck overlooking a sandy stretch of beach littered with faint white shells and clutches of dusky, flattened-down sea grass. Pots with once vibrant flowers sat on the deck's edge, pulses of pink and red blooms slowly dying in the steadily pouring rain.

"I could make a fire later," the man suggested, pointing to the fireplace; a set of couches flanking it, one leather, the other green and red plaid. "It's supposed to get pretty cold over the course of the day."

"It's already cold," Kyle replied, wrapping his arms around himself and choosing to overlook the man's offer. For a moment, he could imagine them both seated in front of a roaring fire, both silent and reading books as the night fell outside; a soft domestic scene that almost made him retch.

"You should've put on a sweater," the man chastised him gently, coming round and making Kyle halt, afraid that he'd try to touch him again. Instead, he slipped off his own hooded sweatshirt and offered it to Kyle, revealing lean arms covered in a riot of tattoos; full sleeves on each.

For a moment, Kyle could only stare at the ink staining and threading the man's skin, comprised of birds and koi and characters he didn't recognize; women with swirling hair and classical profiles, even a cartoonish looking raccoon holding a red umbrella. For whatever reason, he hadn't expected them, not that he'd really given the man's character a whole lot of thought, other than deciding pretty quickly that he was fucking insane.

"Well?" The man shook the garment, momentarily shifting Kyle's focus from his arms.

"Oh, no, I couldn't -" he started to say before the man was wrapping it about him anyway, helping him to guide his arms into the sleeves. Soon, he was zipping the sweater up and standing back, clearly pleased with the result.

"Come on, the coffee will help warm you up, too." Placing his hand on the small of Kyle's back he led him into the kitchen, not commenting when Kyle jerked away and went to stand on the opposite side of the room, back to the wall and watching with wide, suspicious eyes.

"Stop touching me," he snapped, silently relieved that the kitchen was just as inviting as the living room had been, ornamented with golden oak cabinets with glass on the fronts, revealing dishes and cups within. The fridge softly hummed, metallic silver surface shining from the light pouring through yet another generously-sized picture window. A calendar on the wall was a month behind, 'October' emblazoned in gold lettering underneath a Degas painting; ballet girls in a row at a barre and preparing to dance. Over the doorway a wooden plaque hung, the words 'give us this day our daily bread' threaded across it in faux embroidery.

"Sit," the man said, nonplussed by Kyle's reaction. Going to the coffee maker, he lifted the full pot and began to prepare two steaming cups. He didn't bother to ask Kyle how he wanted his made, not that this really surprised him.

Kyle obeyed, tucking his hands into the long sleeves of the oversized hoodie, faintly nauseated by its scent, not because it smelled bad; quite the contrary, in fact.

_He wears cologne_, he thought, covertly bending his head to take in the scent more deeply. _Expensive cologne, if I had to guess._

Vividly, he remembered the day before, when the man had carried him into the bathroom so he could be sick; cradling him like he was a child, or spun glass. Something precious. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to put the memory from his mind, ashamed because he'd had his head pressed to the man's chest, and he could smell his aroma then too...spicy, almost earth-like. It made him think of soil being overturned so a tree could be planted, ivy trailing along the side of a house...wild things growing silently in little-traveled forests.

Turning, he could feel the burn gathering in his eyes again as he stared out the window, the glass appearing frozen as he watched the wind whip up the sea into a frenzy of waves sloshing and seabirds coasting on upward drafts of wind. The world looked angry and unforgiving as he sat at a madman's table, ready to be served a mug of something that could be laced with poison. He had to be out of his mind to even think about accepting anything that the man made, but he had to admit that he was beginning to feel hungry; faint stirrings presenting themselves in his belly.

"Did you want toast or something?" the man asked, suddenly beside him and setting a cup down carefully. Steam curled upward from it, carrying with it the scent of hazelnut and caramel, making Kyle's mouth water. He stared at it, wanting so badly to pick it up and drink, but too terrified and queasy to make a move.

The man sat across from him, nursing his own cup, large hands wrapped around it as he once again watched Kyle like he was a movie in real time. Slowly, he lifted the cup to his lips and drank, the action innocuous but almost seeming to taunt Kyle at the same time, as if to say he didn't have the courage to do the same.

_Don't you want some? Then go ahead, ignore your common sense. It's not like it's worked for you in the past, otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?_

"It isn't too hot, if that's what you're worried about," he said, taking another sip. "Promise. Besides, I made it just the way you like it."

"How would you know what I like or don't like?" Kyle asked, his tone caustic as his rage trampled his trepidation. How could the man say things like that so casually, like they were normal or acceptable? How could he presume to know anything about him when Kyle had no idea who he was? True, there were brief flashes of recognition here and there, but all Kyle could see was a stranger; a dangerous, unpredictable, unstable stranger.

Clenching his hands on the table, Kyle leaned forward, voice trembling with rage when he spoke next; anger superceding fear as he felt himself approaching his breaking point.

"What did you do to it, huh? It's not like you need to drug me, not when you've got me wearing this," he said, yanking on the collar. "Just what the fuck is your deal, anyway? Who the hell are you?"

"All pertinent questions," the man replied easily, nodding before drinking again. Snapping his eyes up, they narrowed slightly. "I can understand your being paranoid, by the way, but I didn't put anything in your drink. That really isn't my thing."

"No, your _thing_," Kyle spat, shoving the drink away so hard that it splashed, "is to kidnap people because you're pathetic and sick. Why else would you put a fucking shock collar on me?"

The man stared at him for a moment, his lower lip twitching before he sighed and rubbed his chin. Pointing, he pulled Kyle's focus to the counter next to the sink.

"Go grab the paper towels. You made a mess."

Incredulously, Kyle slowly stood, alternating between staring at the aforementioned paper towels and the man sitting placidly like he had all the time in the world. His heart was a buzz in his chest as every emotion in his brain seemed to inflate and explode at once, pure, unadulterated rage cutting through everything until his vision clouded. Lunging forward, he grabbed the coffee cup and threw it with all his strength, aiming right for the man who just managed to jump out of the way in time; the object striking the wall with a crash and breaking into a million shards. Coffee sprayed upward in a fan of droplets, littering the teal paint and sliding down, a puddle forming around the decimated pieces of china.

Breathing heavily, Kyle stared at the mess he'd created, feeling triumphant and elated; overjoyed that he'd _done_ something instead of just thinking about doing it. His only regret was that he'd missed his target, deeply disappointment that he hadn't split the man's skull in two; angry that there was only coffee staining the floor instead of human blood.

"I'm going to give you a chance to clean that up," the man said quietly, standing off to the side and staring at the devastation as well; collected and unruffled.

"Or what?" Kyle asked, amazed at the man's ability to control his reactions; almost like he was physically incapable of becoming elevated. On some level, he could feel a begrudging respect for the man's restraint, but that didn't mean he was going to obey his commands, collar or no.

"You know what'll happen," the man replied, not threatening but firm. He reached into his pocket and held up the remote, turning to face Kyle; face resolute and slightly pained.

"Don't pretend like you don't want to use that thing," Kyle said, trying to keep the shake from his voice. "You know you get off on it."

"I really don't," the man murmured, and now he really did look regretful, almost like his eyes were pleading for Kyle to just suck up his pride and obey. "Don't force my hand, Kyle, okay? At least try to be logical."

"Logical?!" Kyle sputtered, forgetting himself and allowing his voice to rise, wincing when the collar shocked him. He gasped, becoming still and holding onto the back of his chair, trying to stay upright. Anger at the pain overcame him and he threw the chair aside, clutching at himself as he continued to rage. "You want me to be logical?! What about you?! Nothing you're doing is -"

"Stop," the man interrupted softly, pushing the button on the remote and holding it. "Calm down."

Now the pain was so intense that Kyle couldn't stop himself from dropping to his knees, mouth agape as he silently screamed. He began to retch, falling forward onto his hands and unable to hold back rough sobs.

"P-please," he eked out, staring at the slick linoleum, fingers clenched and whitening as his hands flexed and clenched almost on their own. Current after current of electricity moved through him until he nearly ceased to exist as a human, comprised only of pain and a desperate need to be free from it; trapped, drooling as his face slackened. "S-stop, just s-s-stop. I'll b-be g-good."

Finally, finally, the blessed sensation of being free of agony wrapped around him like a pair of arms, cradling him as he fell to the floor and curled, knees drawn to his chest. He kept sobbing quietly as he stared at the far wall where the coffee was beginning to dry. There was a buzzing in his ears, like they were stuffed full of swarming bees.

Dimly, he became aware of the man kneeling before him, looking into his face and wiping the moisture from his numbed lips.

"You just need to listen, that's all I want," the man said, stroking Kyle's cheek with the back of his cool hand. "Regardless of what you think, I don't like hurting you. You have to believe that."

"Y-you want to help me," Kyle said faintly, curling into himself more tightly. "You said that before...but you were lying."

"No, I wasn't. I want to take care of you, but you need to let me. Otherwise, there's nothing I can do...it's almost like you enjoy destroying yourself, have you noticed?"

"That's a funny thing for you to say, considering..." Kyle tugged his mouth into what he hoped was a smirk as he looked down at the collar briefly.

"Really, because from what I saw a couple nights ago, you aren't really concerned with self preservation," he argued, helping Kyle to sit up; easing him backward so he could lean against a cabinet.

"What are you talking about?" Kyle asked tiredly, completely spent from his outburst and the agony it created. 

Standing, the man went and grabbed the paper towels and returned, setting them on the floor next to Kyle. 

"Clean up the mess you made and I'll tell you," he said, an eyebrow cocked. "You need to learn to control your impulses. This will teach you that your actions have consequences. Honestly, if you understood that you probably wouldn't be here in the first place."

Gritting his teeth, Kyle picked up the towels before slowly crawling across the floor, very aware of his dignity being crushed into dust as he obeyed. It couldn't be helped, though, not with the man wielding the remote and also being willing to use it. Besides, he needed answers; not having them was almost as bad as having the collar locked around his throat. 

Silently, he began to clean, sopping up the coffee while gingerly picking up the shards of china; setting them aside in a little pile. The man, for his part, fetched a garbage can and a bottle of 409, beginning to speak after depositing them near Kyle. 

"Let me ask you a question before I start," he said, sitting down and crossing his legs. Taking up his cup he drank, grimacing slightly. "It's cold," he explained, rolling his eyes but shrugging it off. "Whatever. Anyway, tell me what you remember about a couple days ago... before I brought you here."

Kyle was wiping the wall now, not expecting the man's request. He paused to think, to remember, frustrated that his recollection was still so fuzzy. 

"I can remember walking home," he said slowly, piecing his thoughts together like a makeshift patchwork quilt. "I was listening to music and then -" 

He shook his head, looking up at the man helplessly. 

"It's a blur. It's like the scene was cut short or something. But," he continued, reaching up to idly rub the back of his head, "I think I can recall pain...like someone threw something at me... or maybe I was hit? I'm not sure."

"What about before that? Before walking home?"

Kyle shrugged, turning his attention back to the wall.

"I went on a date after work. No big deal."

"Where did you go?"

Annoyed, Kyle scrubbed the wall harder, not caring if he ruined the paint. Fuck it, he didn't care if the whole wall crumbled under his hand.

"Why do you need to know?" he asked, skirting the question.

A long silence followed his petulance until he was forced to glance over his shoulder, fully expecting to see the man brandishing the remote. Instead, he was languidly sipping his coffee, his face smooth. Meeting Kyle's eyes, he gave him a little smile.

"I'm waiting," he said, going back to his coffee.

"Fine, fine. You win, okay? We went to Tír na nÓg. Are you satisfied?"

"Not really," the man replied matter-of-factly. "But that isn't the point, now is it? Who'd you go out with?"

"Why the hell does that even matter?!" Kyle yelled, whirling around and yelping when the collar shocked him. He groaned, trying to shove his irritation down so he could control himself. "Just...fucking tell me what happened, okay? Why are you interrogating me like this?"

"I'm walking you through the events of the night for a reason, Kyle. Trust me."

"You can't be serious," Kyle sighed, finally managing to scrub the last of the coffee off the wall. He turned his focus on the floor, spraying 409 on the sticky spots. "Fine, if you must know, it was just some random guy." He thought, trying to remember the dude's name, but it kept escaping him; purposely not mentioning how they'd met. "I want to say his name was...Brent? Yeah, that's it." He glanced at the man, feeling foolish. "I guess you could say we didn't really click."

"I'm shocked," he replied, clearly amused while lobbing Kyle's words back at him. "What was he like?"

"Oh, he just wanted sex," Kyle said flippantly. "And he was cute, but...I don't know, he kind of gave me a weird feeling, so I didn't stick around for very long. We had a couple drinks and then I decided to call it a night."

"How'd he feel about that?"

Blinking, Kyle couldn't ignore the sinking, weighted prickle that developed in his stomach at this question. The dust coating his brain was slowly being cleared away as he ruminated, allowing himself to poke into corners he hadn't really considered before.

"You know, now that I think about it, he didn't seem okay with it at all. He became sort of aggressive, I guess? In fact, he wouldn't let me leave until I finished my..." he paused, beginning to feel slightly cold, like the color and blood were draining swiftly from his face. Looking down at his hands, he saw that they were starting to tremble, suddenly feeling disconnected from his own body.

"H-he paid the check," he murmured, not wanting to dwell on the subject any longer but unable to stop himself. "He insisted, and I thought it was actually really nice. I even told him that I'd call him the next day. I mean, I wasn't really going to do it, but...we hugged and he kissed me on the cheek."

Almost feeling like he was in a trance, he glanced at the man and waited, a creeping horror building on itself inside of his gut. The man set his coffee aside and clasped his hands, eyes hooded while the quiet settled around them like snow falling. In that moment, not wanting to focus on his hideous unfolding reality, Kyle studied him; needing a distraction. He was dressed casually, clad in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, his simple clothing offsetting the bright colors staining his arms.

"He followed you," the man said, continuing the story. Every word was an arrow flying straight into Kyle's chest, physically paining him. "You didn't notice because you were tipsy, I suppose...after all, you had, what, three-four drinks? Sound about right?"

"I guess," Kyle said faintly, not even wanting to think about how the man could possibly know that. "And I hadn't eaten, so..."

"Not to victim blame, but you sort of turned yourself into the perfect target," the man said, methodically popping each of his knuckles in turn. "Why didn't you just take a cab home?"

"I always walk...I like it. It helps clear my head."

"That makes sense. Besides, you didn't live far from the restaurant."

"Why are you using the past tense all of a sudden?" Kyle snapped. "I still don't live far, unless you've forgotten."

"Relax, you're reading into things too much. I'm just saying I can understand why you made the decision you did...and it's not your fault that that psycho drugged your drink and then attacked -"

"That didn't happen!" Kyle cut in, covering his ears and not succumbing to the shocking pulse of the collar; eyes screwed shut. "You're just twisting things around so you can fuck with my head!"

He couldn't accept the implications laid at his feet, not on top of his current circumstances. He was already trapped and collared, locked up in the house of someone he couldn't remember...to consider the idea that he'd almost been violated as well was just too much. How could he ever come to terms with any of this? Crying quietly, he pressed his hands to his face, becoming lost while staggering through the wreckage his life had become.

"Why...just why?" he pleaded, taking his hands away. The man was still watching him, his expression pitying. "Why is this happening? How did everything change so quickly?"

"Did it, though?" the man asked, the question disarming Kyle. He wasn't even sure how he was supposed to answer.

"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well," the man replied, standing and taking his cup over to the coffee maker. He poured more into his cup and began to prepare it, methodically measuring out sugar and plucking the creamer from the fridge. "Where did you meet this guy?"

"Tinder," Kyle said reluctantly, not exactly embarrassed about having to go online to meet people but not really wanting to say it out loud either. "So?"

"And this is something you do often; just meet random people off of the internet." The man was stirring his drink now, little metallic clinks breaking up the silence of the kitchen. Outside, the rain still fell, becoming a quiet, delicate mist.

"Yeah, and?" he asked, annoyed and weirdly ashamed that the man somehow knew this; hadn't posed his words as a question, turning them into a statement of irrefutable fact.

"So, something like this was bound to happen eventually, I'd imagine," the man said, taking his cup back to the table and sitting down. "There's a lot of assholes out there -"

"You're living proof, aren't you?" Kyle cut in, enraged that this man, this stranger, was basically blaming him for what may or may not have happened. "And who are you to preach to me, anyway? You're a fucking kidnapper and besides, you could be lying, right? I mean, you're implying that I was drugged so I couldn't remember anything...you could be the one that attacked me...in fact, that would make more sense, wouldn't it? I'm at _your_ house, aren't I?"

He stopped, another realization swiftly coming to him as his mind tumbled and whirled, the gears turning as he slowly woke up from what had clearly been an ongoing stupor.

"And you also said that I don't live far from the restaurant. How the fuck do you even know that? And why do you know how many drinks I had...God, were you fucking watching us the whole time?"

"I've been watching you for a while," the man murmured, eyes downcast as he slowly sipped his coffee. "And you're lucky I was, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to save you from that piece of shit." Looking up, his mouth twisted as he continued, his eyes darkening until they were the color of slate. "You had made it to the basketball courts by the time he caught up to you, but you were already beginning to stumble. He waited to see if you'd pass out, I guess, but you didn't -"

"The basketball courts," Kyle said softly. "I was only a few minutes from my place."

"He came up behind you and punched you in the back of the head," the man said, anger finally making its way into his voice as he recounted what he'd seen. "I heard you scream and it was the worst sound I'd ever heard in my life, and I couldn't stop myself...it was impulsive, I know...I was only there because I was doing research but when I saw him hit you again, and then I knew -"

He stopped, breathing heavily. Setting the cup down, he started flexing his fingers in and out, his usually controlled demeanor disintegrating as he spoke; words coming faster and faster.

"I knew what he wanted to do, Kyle. He wanted to hurt you and I was angry with myself because I hadn't protected you, but the way you were almost falling over...you could barely stand up straight, and the look on your face." Covering his face, he leaned over, beginning to rock. "You were so afraid and he'd made it so you couldn't really fight back...I had to do something. I had to."

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Kyle asked, beginning to see that this man was probably capable of anything.

The man took his hands away and laughed lightly, the sound more like a bark than an actual exclamation of amusement. It was bitter, bordering on caustic.

"I should have, but no...no, he's still alive, living his disgusting life. I hurt him, though...made him regret hurting you." He sighed and sat back, looking up at the ceiling. "When I was done and I came back to myself...you were on the ground and I saw that you'd either passed out from what he'd given you or because he hit you, I don't know. I thought about just taking you back to your place but then I imagined you being alone when you woke up and I couldn't stomach it. You shouldn't have to be alone after having something like that happen to you. So, I...I brought you back here. I didn't really realize I was doing it until I was halfway home and you were asleep in the backseat..."

"But don't you see? I saved you," he continued, looking at Kyle with excitement now; his eyes filled with a new, unsettling light. "I'm not the one who hurt you, Kyle. It was him...it's the world. Out there," he said, waving his hand toward the window, "that's where the danger is, can't you see that?"

"You're psychotic," Kyle whispered, pushing himself up against the wall. Revulsion welled inside of himself at the stranger's logic, his insistence that what he'd done was right. Christ, he acted like Kyle should be thanking him! "You have to be...Jesus, you have me trapped in your house. You put a fucking shock collar on me. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You'll be safe here," the man replied, nodding slowly. "I was going to bring you here eventually, but it's probably for the best that you're here now. The way you were going it was only a matter of time."

"Let me go," Kyle said, standing slowly; legs trembling terribly and almost giving out. "Now. You need to take this collar off of me and let me out of here. If you don't -"

"I mean, let's analyze this," the man said, clearly not listening, beginning to tick off his points on his fingers, "drinking too much, popping prescriptions like they were candy, anonymous sex, meeting up with people from the internet without even knowing jack shit about them -"

"You shouldn't know about any of that!" Kyle yelled, his words coming out like a screech when the collar reacted. Leaning down, he gathered up the shards of broken china and clenched them in his hands, fully intending to smash them in the man's face so he could finally escape. Lurching forward, he ignored the way the pieces cut into his hands as he advanced on him.

The man reacted too quickly though, standing so abruptly that he knocked his chair aside; reaching up and taking a hold of Kyle's arms. Strong fingers bit into his skin as the man easily overpowered him, bright droplets of blood cascading over his fingers as the broken cup sliced his flesh open. For a moment, they struggled with one another, eyes locked as Kyle refused to give in; screaming in frustration when his knees began to buckle. Crying out, he finally dropped his hands when the collar attacked him yet again, disarming him enough so that his hands unclenched; the china falling from his fingers to clatter on the floor.

"Just let me go," he sobbed, taking a hold of the man's shirt and twisting it, his hands screaming from the pain. "Please, I won't tell anyone about this...no one has to know. We can just go on like none of this ever happened...I promise, just please..." leaning forward, he buried his face in the man's chest, sagging against him. "Just let me go home."

"You are home," the man said, settling his arms around Kyle and pulling him close. Humming softly, he began to rock him back and forth, almost like they were dancing their own private waltz. "You'll see that soon enough...this is where you belong...I've always known that. You took the long way, Kyle, but you've found your way here, haven't you? That's all that matters now."

"Why can't I remember you?" Stepping back, he kept clinging to the man's shirt, his head hanging low. "I have to know you...I can feel it on some level, but it isn't coming back to me. Maybe that would make this easier, if I just knew your name."

"I need you to remember on your own," the man said, gently untangling Kyle's hands from his shirt so he could study them. "Look what you've done to your hands, baby. You need to learn to control yourself."

"Don't call me that," Kyle breathed, swiping at his nose viciously. "It makes me feel sick."

"I guess it would," the man shrugged, still cradling Kyle's other hand like it was so fragile. "I'm not the person you want to hear that from, am I? How is he these days, huh? You have to know."

"Who?" he asked, looking up and feeling so tired he almost swayed in his place.

The man just looked at him for a moment before he shook his head.

"Never mind. It's too soon for all of that. Come on, we need to get you cleaned up." Taking a hold of Kyle's arm, he began to pull him from the room. Exhausted, Kyle didn't resist, going along and almost feeling like he was sleepwalking.

"At least give me a hint," he said, suddenly thinking of the dying fish from his dream, gasping for the air that was eluding them. "Can't you give me that much?"

"I guess," the man replied, although he seemed hesitant. "We knew each other a long time ago, when we were kids."

"And?"

"That's it," he said, giving him a wink. "You'll figure it out, Kyle. I know you will."

"But why does it matter?"

"I can't tell you that either, not yet," the man muttered, leading him back into the gray-shadowed bedroom. "Everything in its own time. Besides, you're here and that's all I need for now...and we have plenty of time, don't we? All the time in the world."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun w/ this one, you guys. That's why I'm updating much more frequently than I have been xD. Also, I've been feeling a lot better so that definitely helps! :D
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY <3
> 
> PS: Thanks for the comments on the last chapter! They mean so much! :)

_**I've been here, in this place** _  
_ **I've been stuck, in this space** _  
_ **Like a ghost that's been missing its life** _  
_ **Silent words in my mouth** _  
_ **Yeah, they want to scream out** _  
_ **And I'll leave my old shadow behind** _  
_ **In my heart and out of my mind**  
_

_**\- The Way I Was, Jem and the Holograms (don't laugh, the movie wasn't ** _ **that** _ ** bad xD)** _

* * *

He felt as if he were trapped between water and fire as he sat as still as possible on the plaid sofa; stiff, with his hands folded on his thighs, which were pressed tightly together. The only thing he allowed to move were his irises, darting here and there as he studied the room.

The man had built the fire he'd spoken of earlier, after he'd attended to Kyle's cut-up hands. Stinging peroxide had been applied after the wounds had been bathed in the naked bathroom, the water turning pink as it wove ribbon-like down the drain. Finally, they'd been covered with band-aids, the man going so far as to pat them lightly after determining that Kyle had been put to rights.

Afterward, they'd emerged from Kyle's room (_my room_, he'd thought when it had occurred to him; the realization making his stomach writhe), the man had insisted on a tour of the small cottage, introducing his charge to nearly every corner of the house; the dining room with the long table and circular mirror on the far wall, the guest bath (small, with only a toilet, sink, and mirror), his bedroom (he'd glossed over this room, really only waving in its direction, the door open but dark from the gathering shadows as the day waned), his "work room" with the door closed and padlocked shut.

"It's the only room that's locked," Kyle had commented, annoyed that he felt even a flutter of idle, morbid curiosity.

"I'm paranoid about my work, I guess," the man had smiled, hurrying them along until they'd made it to the front room. It had been simply decorated like the rest of the house, white sofas with pink-stitched carnations, dark side tables, another large window looking out over the driveway. Wet pine trees stood behind the wavering glass, looking like collapsed green umbrellas as the rain kept pouring. Like a starving man, Kyle had groped with his eyes when he saw the drive curving upward toward what he'd hoped was a main road, hungry to hear a car streaking past; anything to suggest that the world still existed outside of this tiny, cramped universe.

Even more enticing was the front door, which had had the standard deadbolt that most doors would be equipped with; nothing extra like he'd expected. Why, if he'd wanted he could simply pass over the cream-colored carpet, slide the lock back and be out in the rain, allowing it to soak into his starved pores. He could even imagine tipping his head back and tasting it, cold and sharp on his tongue; like expensive champagne. Crazed, he'd fled from his place beside the man and had done just that, had thrown the bolt back, twisted the knob and had flung the door open; bare foot passing over the threshold, silently screaming for freedom, when -

The agony had uncurled inside of him again, somehow worse than before, and he'd collapsed half inside the house, half out, his hands clenched on the stoop. There was a red welcome mat sitting in front of the door, its scratchy fibers digging into his already injured hands. He reeled from the pain as the currents of electricity licked and sizzled his nerves, unsure if he should retreat into the house or keep trying to move forward; locked in a battle that seemed to stretch for centuries.

"That'll happen if you try to exit through this door and the back," the man had explained, taking a hold of Kyle's ankle and gently sliding him back into the house. "Those are the only two doors to the outside, this one and the patio." Carefully, he shut the door once he made sure Kyle was clear, once again locking it. "As you can see I tried to dot my i's and cross my t's."

"You're very thorough," Kyle had gasped, sick of finding himself in this position; prone and seated at the man's feet while he towered above him. It was obvious from their stations alone who was in the power position and he hated it, having once relished being in control of every aspect of his life. Somehow, he'd convinced himself that that would always be the case.

Now they were seated in the living room while the sun slowly sank toward the horizon, gray clouds scudding across the sky and revealing minute patches of faint blue. The sea was still in a fury, crashing relentlessly against the beach as the tide came in. The fire was adjacent to him, crackling and throwing its woody, earthy musk into the room. It wasn't the type that you simply flipped on, like the one Kyle had back in his condo. No, the man had had to build it up with the logs he'd brought in from outside; smelling windswept and so sweet that Kyle had nearly teared up at the scent. It spoke of things that he'd taken for granted in the past, but were quickly becoming everything that could ever matter.

The man was sitting opposite Kyle on the leather couch, relaxed as he quietly wrote on a pad laid on his thigh; the _scritch scritch_ of his pen mixing with the tick tock of the black Kit-Cat Klock. Kyle stared at it, that bizarre old fashioned clock, as the tail and eyes of the Felix cat moved back and forth, back and forth...over and over and over until they began to blur, and the sound of it counting down the seconds made him clench his hands until they ached with warmth; lacerations stretching open. At least the pain gave him something else to focus on.

"You could read a book, if you wanted," the man spoke suddenly, almost making Kyle shout from surprise. "There are books right next to you."

Kyle glanced over and studied the bookshelf, the clock balanced above it; set in a recessed alcove next to the fireplace. It was crammed full, some of the titles catching his eye and sparking vague interest, but he shook his head.

"I wouldn't be able to concentrate," he replied, opening his hands up and breathing shallowly from the pain. "You did give me a lot to think about," he added, an edge in his voice.

"Hmm, I imagine I did," he agreed, going back to his writing. "I wasn't trying to upset you earlier, of course."

"Of course," Kyle snapped, turning his attention back to the fire. Gut churning, he was beginning to feel desperate, wanting all the nagging little noises to cease, wishing that the room would simply dissolve away. "What about the TV?" he asked, turning toward the flat screen against the far wall. "Can I watch something?"

"I'm not really in the mood," the man replied after a moment of thought. Laying his pad down, he stared at Kyle thoughtfully, tapping the pen against his bottom lip. Flitting his eyes to the clock, he smiled suddenly, clearly becoming inspired. "Why don't you make dinner? That'll give you something to do, and," he paused, giving Kyle a look of reproach, "you need to eat something, Kyle. You haven't had a proper meal in days."

"I wonder why," Kyle said, appalled at the man's suggestion; his audacity. "I guess being your prisoner doesn't really give me an appetite. Besides, I'm not your fucking maid. Why should I make you dinner?"

"Fair point." Returning to his pad, the man assumed an expression of amusement. "I just figured it would help, having something to occupy your mind, instead of sitting there staring at the clock."

"I don't even know how to cook." Crossing his arms, Kyle sat back, very aware that he was acting like a petulant baby but not caring either way. He was pretty sure no one could blame him, given his current circumstances.

"Well, we're a pretty pair, aren't we? Neither do I," the man shrugged, lifting his pen and studying the page before him. "This should be fun, huh?"

"You have a warped idea of fun," Kyle muttered, glancing at the bookshelf again before worrying his sore bottom lip. "And we aren't a pair, so get that idea out of your head."

"Whatever you say," he said, beginning to sound bored. "Do what you want, then. I'm busy."

Kyle had to fight down the impulse to cross the room, tear the paper out of the man's hands, and rip it to shreds as he watched. As it stood, he gritted his teeth and continued to look over the bookshelf, his focus falling on some random cookbooks on the bottom row. Giving the man a short glance, he slid to the floor and crawled over, telling himself that he had no intention of doing as the man suggested; reasoning that he was merely curious and nothing else.

_If it'll pass the time_, he thought, running a hand over the books, _then I'll take it. Anything is better than sitting here talking to _him.

"You have a lot of comics," he said, taking note of the manga and graphic novels tucked in among the Dickens, Brontes, and Capotes. "Dragon Ball, Ranma 1/2, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Elfen Lied...old stuff."

"I like them," the man replied simply. "You used to too. Remember?"

"I'm starting to," Kyle said, catching himself before he smiled at the memory; being a goofy middle schooler and trading manga with his ridiculous friends. He stopped himself, though; not wanting to make a trip down memory lane. Especially not at the moment, not in that place. "Whatever. It's weird that you held onto all this kid stuff, is what I'm saying."

"Hmm."

"Profound." Moving away from the manga, Kyle took a large cookbook from the shelf and studied it. It looked brand-new, the spine not even giving the hint that it'd ever been opened. He tested this theory, unsurprised at the crack the book made when it fell open. "What, do you just get takeout a lot, or..."

"Sometimes," the man replied, finally looking up. "Or I just make simple stuff; sandwiches, pizza. Nothing crazy."

"So, you'll have to go to the grocery store eventually," Kyle said, trying to sound nonchalant as he read the table of contents; heartbeat quickening slightly.

"I have my groceries delivered. Actually, I got a fresh batch just a couple days ago, right before you got here."

"Naturally," he sighed, his heart slowing back down. Honestly, what difference would it make if the man left him alone? He still wouldn't be able to use the exits, and after he'd taken a look at the windows he'd seen that they were all bolted six ways from Sunday. Besides, it didn't look like his keeper was going to give him that sort of opportunity, anyway. Turning to the entree section, he skimmed its contents while his mind furiously whirled, little details clicking into place.

"You chained me to the bed so I wouldn't try to use the doors," he said, not looking up as he read about sauces and roasts and stews. "That's what you meant by hurting myself, right?"

"Correct," the man said easily, like Kyle had asked him something mundane. "I'm sure you noticed that the shock was stronger than usual, too. You don't need to be up and wandering around by yourself in the middle of the night, anyway."

"I could just launch something through the window, break it wide open," Kyle said, his voice starting to shake. He cleared his throat, trying to retain his composure. "It wouldn't be that hard."

"Good luck with that," the man said, shifting and groaning when he stretched his arms above his head. Sighing, he scratched the back of his head. "The windows in this place are made of double-paned polycarbonate. They're nearly unbreakable. Besides, we're miles from town...I don't even have neighbors out here."

Standing, Kyle slowly went to the window and stared out, gulping softly when he saw that the sun would soon be setting on another day in Hell. 

"Where are we?" he whispered, pressing his fingertips against the glass; chilled and almost feeling wet from the cold. "Where did you even take me?"

"Chincoteague," came the casual, offhand answer, enough to make Kyle's heart nearly curdle in his already too-tight chest.

"Virginia," he breathed, knowing he was far from home, but not realizing that they were in an entirely different state. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind; a surprising happenstance considering the absurdity of the whole situation. "Why were you in Baltimore in the first place? It's hours away."

_ Besides spying on me, you sick son of a bitch. _

"I was doing research."

"Yeah, you said that before, but what kind of research? What does that even mean?!" he groaned and leaned his head against the window when the collar came to life, reminding him of his place in all of this. He was really going to have to learn to control the volume of his voice; something he'd always had difficulty doing. Now it seemed he had no choice. 

"It isn't important," the man said, his tone making it obvious that this wasn't a topic that was up for discussion. "So," he continued, clapping his hands once, "what's on the menu for tonight? I can't wait."

Blankly, Kyle stared at the book still cradled in his hands, nearly forgotten. In the reflection of the window, he glanced up to see the man staring at him expectantly and he almost felt the need to retch; shutting his eyes and praying for clarity, the ability to simply think and plan. 

_There has to be a way_, he thought, but the strength of his inner voice already sounded tired. Why shouldn't it? Kyle had never felt more exhausted, so utterly beaten down. It was hard to believe that his ordeal had only spanned two days instead of two years.

"I-I'm not sure," he said, opening his eyes and turning from the window. Ducking his head, he clutched the book to his chest. His eyes caught on a small object laying on the couch next to the man; the little, black remote, agony incarnate. Something crumbled in his chest as he capitulated, some of the fight draining from him when before it had been a wildfire burning unfettered. "I guess I'll have to check to see what we -

(_we we we...how could I even say that out loud?!_)

\- have and then make a decision."

"Sounds like a plan," the man said, grinning and sitting back, appearing pleased as punch to see Kyle preparing to cook them a meal. "I'm sure I'll love anything you make. I have total faith in you."

\------

If he closed his eyes, maybe he could trick himself into thinking he was home in his own kitchen. Instead of being surrounded by golden oak cabinets and stainless steel, he could be back among the black fixtures with the white tiles; the ultra-modern decor that he had chosen just two years prior. Maybe if he pretended enough, he'd be able to hear the sounds of the city outside of his window, six stories up and overlooking the harbor. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to transport himself back to his messy bedroom where he could lounge in his own bed with a glass of wine in his hand. He'd have his phone perched next to him, waiting for yet another text from his assistant or waiting for one of his random flings to make an offer to see him that evening.

Whatever, it wouldn't matter what he'd be doing; he'd be _home_, and that's what truly resonated with him as he stood in the middle of the strange kitchen; eyes shut. Slowly, he opened them, childishly disappointed to see he was still in no man's land, ensconced in foreign appliances and with the cookbook still tucked against his chest. Standing before the fridge, he saw a grocery list held up by dinged-up fruit magnets -

_ **Toilet paper** _  
_ **Turkey bacon** _  
**Bottled water**  
_ **Grapes, maybe?** _  
_ **Pickles** _

  
He scowled at its normalcy. An outsider would never realize it'd been penned by a psychopath, but he figured even crazy people needed to eat and wipe their asses. Turning his focus, he raised an eyebrow at a line of writing on the back of a scruffy envelope:

_it is very seldom that a person loves anyone they cannot in some way envy*_

"How poignant," he mumbled, though he did decide to tuck the thought away so he could mull over it later. At the very least, maybe it would provide a window into his captor's psyche. Who knew? Oddly, it also made him think of Stan, mainly because he knew he'd like it. He'd always been the contemplative sort.

This thought made him hurt, so he pushed it away, quickly opening the fridge so he could take stock of its contents. The man had been telling the truth about recently having groceries delivered; the fridge stuffed with produce and other essentials: eggs, milk, cheese, condiments.  


_Does he always buy this much for just himself, or was he planning on abducting me regardless of how my date went?_

A cold shiver went up his spine at this question, and he nearly screamed when he felt a hand landing on his shoulder. Whirling around, he backed up into the open fridge, terrified.

"Hey, relax, I was just bringing you something," the man said, holding up a CD player. Stepping back, he set it on the counter next to a pile of CD cases. "I thought you might want to listen to music while you're cooking. Have you decided on anything?"

"No, I haven't, and don't fucking sneak up on me like that," Kyle said, eyeing the player with distaste. The old Kyle would've been touched by the gesture, but the current, angry Kyle only wanted to unload barely contained rage and vitriol. "Who the hell listens to CDs anymore, anyway? Can't I just have my phone back so I can listen to Spotify or something?"

"I think we both know the answer to that question," the man said, picking up the stack of CDs and shuffling through them. "Besides, I have some good stuff here. We used to listen to it..." he trailed off, setting the CDs down carefully. "I think you'll find something you like." Looking around, he almost appeared lost for a moment. "Did you need any help in here? I mean, I'm hopeless in the kitchen but I'm a fast learner."

"I have no idea what I'm doing so it'd just be the blind leading the blind," Kyle retorted, turning to look in the fridge again. "I'll be fine on my own."

"If you say so." Shuffling footsteps passed over the linoleum before the man spoke again. "I wanted to thank you, by the way."

Kyle looked at him, immediately on his guard. He cocked an eyebrow in silent question.

"For asking if you could watch TV earlier, instead of just doing it," the man explained. "That was really considerate, so thanks."

Angrily, Kyle turned away without responding, listening for the man's footsteps to die away before he really allowed himself to dwell on what he'd just heard. He hadn't even really stopped to consider that he'd asked for permission to do something so small...it had just happened, whether from fear of the man using the remote or fear of his quiet, controlled disapproval, he couldn't be sure. Maybe it was both.

Reaching up, he gently tugged at the collar, realizing on some level that he was slowly but surely being taught to obey. It had started without him even knowing it, but it was true. Even now, he was afraid to even approach the doors, terrified of that horrible pain that rippled through him when the collar was agitated. He was finding himself talking in a lower tone of voice even though he desperately wanted to scream until someone, anyone, heard him.

Feeling like a rat slowly dying in a glue trap, he frantically looked around the kitchen, his eyes trained on the knife block for a moment before they skipped away.

"No, he'd notice," he muttered, slowly shutting the fridge. "But maybe..."

Methodically, he went through each drawer until he found the cutlery, endlessly relieved to see that the forks, spoons, and butter knives were carelessly thrown into their accustomed places. There seemed to be mismatched pieces from multiple sets, so clearly he didn't really keep stock of what he had. Good. Looking around, a light sweat collecting on his upper lip while he pulled out a butter knife as carefully as possible. He panicked for a moment, trying to think of a place to stow it before he calmed himself, leaning down and slipping the article into his sock; pulling it up high in order to keep it contained.

Watching the doorway, he took a few practice steps to make sure the movement wouldn't jar the knife, relieved when it stayed firmly in place. Another idea occurred to him then, one tiny success neatly feeding into further inspiration. Opening up the cabinet under the sink, he almost sighed with pleasure to see all of the chemicals in neat rows; Pine Sol, Comet, bleach.

_I could make spaghetti or something_, he thought, his excitement gaining momentum as he considered these awful, murderous possibilities. _He'd never know I'd poisoned him until his crazy ass was already on the floor, his fucking throat closing up. Then I wouldn't even need to use the knife....  
_

But, no. He couldn't do that. Disappointed, Kyle shook his head and closed the cabinet. It wasn't a question of whether it was right or wrong, of course. Kyle was almost certain that his conscience would give him a pass on taking out such a dangerous individual, but he couldn't forget the reality of his situation. As much as he hated to admit it, the fucker wasn't stupid, he'd already proved that. There was a reason he'd felt comfortable leaving him alone with caustic chemicals, and it wasn't because of Kyle's obvious aversion to the collar. 

"Are you sure you're okay in there?" the man called, making Kyle jump again, having become lost in his treacherous thoughts. "It's so quiet."

"I'm fine," Kyle called, gritting his teeth but heartened by the reassuring weight of the knife in his sock. "I-I'm, uh, just getting my ducks in a row."

"Well, let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Whatever," Kyle muttered, slamming the cookbook down on the counter before rifling through the CDs. He picked one and read it, almost laughing out loud at the words written in a childish scrawl across the bottom:

** Summer Mix - 7th Grade **

_Someone's seriously stuck in the past_, he thought, popping it into the player. Before too long, Sublime started to play and he groaned because he hadn't listened to them in ages. It was comforting, though, even if he was listening to their music under the worst of circumstances. Jesus, how many times had he listened to this very song with Stan while dicking around on a Saturday night, or....

He paused, feeling like a memory was trying to stir itself from deep in his brain. Why did this all feel so familiar all of a sudden? He could recall a bedroom, not his own, nor Stan's, but he'd spent a reasonable amount of time there, at least for a while. It had had mashed-down blue carpet and glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, hadn't it? 

Shaking his head, Kyle refused to entertain these thoughts a second longer, especially if they were going to bring Stan further into play. He was an Off the Table Subject; had been for years -

(_for the most part, right?_)

\- and now he kept him as far from himself as possible. That demented asshole in the living room may not think he had any sense of self preservation, but Kyle begged to differ; he'd become particularly adept at protecting himself as he'd gotten older. At least in some ways.

Ultimately, after careful (and frustrating) deliberation, Kyle decided to make something simple: chicken stir fry and rice. After chopping the vegetables and readying the pot of water to boil, he even found himself starting to hum along to the music as it played, finding new buoyancy every time he thought about the knife he'd hidden away. He was also relieved to note that cooking wasn't too much of a trial as long as he paid attention to the details, though he wasn't thrilled when the chicken stuck to the wok after he neglected to stir it enough.

"Beginner's mistake," he said flippantly, going so far as to take the calendar down from the wall so he could turn it to the right month. The ballet girls of Degas faded away to reveal 'Woman in a Park' by Renoir; Kyle noticing that the calendar was a collection of works from the National Gallery in DC. More disturbing was truly focusing on the days that had already passed in his forced confinement. If he was correct, then it was already Sunday evening, and that was a problem for numerous reasons.

He looked up when he heard a clattering at the stove, irritated to see the man poking around in the wok.

"Smells great," he said, smiling widely; that one crooked incisor only furthering Kyle's annoyance. "Thanks for changing the calendar, by the way. I always forget to do that...time kind of gets away from me for the most part. Unless I have a deadline, of course."

"It's Sunday," Kyle replied, waving away the man's compliment and his flimsy reasoning for being stuck in a personal time warp. He was able to conjure up minor interest at the word 'deadline' but he ignored it. 

"So it is," the man said, plucking up a piece of broccoli and looking at it before dropping it back into the pot. 

"I have work tomorrow," Kyle continued, annoyed at the man's inability to read between the lines. "Three hours away. I kind of have responsibilities, unlike you."

"Oh, I have plenty of responsibilities, Kyle," the man replied, going to the cabinet and beginning to pull down plates. He glanced at him, giving Kyle a look that made his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. "But, you're right. It is Sunday and that means Monday is almost upon us."

"Right, so -"

"Naturally, you'll have to call out," the man continued, cutting him off. Going to the cutlery drawer, he started to root around, making Kyle's words die in his throat as he watched. He looked up, seemingly surprised that Kyle hadn't said anything. "You okay?" 

"I-I'm fine," he stammered, clutching the hem of the man's hoodie until his injured hand throbbed, berating himself for his inability to stay calm under growing pressure. It didn't help that the man was taking so long to find what he needed, the cacophony of metallic clinks cutting through Kyle's head like so many razors. Feeling desperate, he came over and impulsively shouldered the man out of his way.  "Let me," he said, gathering forks into a shaking hand.  Pausing, he swallowed slowly before asking: 

"Are you going to need a knife, or..." 

The man considered this, his gaze lighting up the side of Kyle's face until he thought it'd burst into flame, then: 

"For stir fry? Nah, I should be okay with just a fork as long as you cut the chicken small enough." 

"It should be fine." Sliding the drawer closed, Kyle avoided the man's eyes as he grabbed the plates and napkins. "Did you want me to use place mats or anything?" 

"That'd be nice. Here," the man replied, a smile in his voice. After a moment, he lay them on top of the plates but didn't move away, lingering until Kyle was forced to look up. When he did, he saw that the man was gazing at him with what had to be adoration, his eyes and mouth soft; gentle. "I can't believe I get to eat dinner with you," he said, a strange sort of reverence in his tone that made Kyle feel embarrassed. "I can't tell you what this means to me, it's just..." he stopped, laughing awkwardly. "I'll stop. Sorry." 

Backing away, Kyle could only stare at him, the weight of the knife more comforting than ever as he tried to understand the person before him. Nothing he did or said seemed to make sense, always leaving Kyle floundering for solid footing. "I'll go set the table," he said, skirting around the man quickly. "Dinner should be ready in just a few minutes." 

It wasn't long before they were both seated on opposite ends of the long table in the dining room; Kyle situated directly across from the large circular mirror hung right behind his captor. Like a horror movie unfolding, he stared at himself, pale countenance bruised and large eyes lost as his full plate steamed before him. The man had turned on music that was soft and lilting, leaking sinuously from the player in the kitchen. He'd even lit two small candles that sat in the middle of the table.

"I hope you don't mind," he'd explained, giving Kyle a small, almost timid smile. "I just wanted the right ambience, you know what I mean?"

Kyle had only nodded even though he'd wanted to gag, repulsed by the man's attempt at creating a romantic atmosphere. The candles had only highlighted the dark circles under Kyle's eyes, making him look like an animated corpse sitting down to dine. 

As Kyle had expected, the man looked at him expectantly before even lifting his fork.

"Why don't you go first?" he asked, gesturing toward Kyle's plate.

"Paranoid, are we?" Kyle couldn't resist asking as he took a small bite of rice and then the stir fry; a compilation of chicken, carrots, snap peas, broccoli, and red peppers. He was satisfied with his efforts, although it could've used a little more salt. Chewing, he rolled his eyes when he swallowed, giving the man a decidedly sour look. "There, see? I'm still alive."

"Wonderful," the man said, not taking the bait. Digging in, he took a much bigger bite than Kyle, sighing a little as he chewed. Swallowing, he gave Kyle his biggest, brightest smile yet. "This is great, really. I knew you'd be able to cook if you just gave it a try. What do you think?"

_ I think you're fucking nuts, obviously. _

Rather than give into impulse, Kyle just shrugged and took another bite, suddenly realizing just how famished he really was; his taste buds almost aching from tasting food again. 

"I think it needs more salt," he said flatly.

"Maybe a little, but don't get discouraged," the man said after taking another large bite. His gray eyes were unbearably warm as he watched Kyle through the candlelight, the glow calling his sharp cheekbones to attention; the angular shape of his firm jaw. "This is only your first try. You'll improve with practice."

These words had the power to put a damper on Kyle's burgeoning appetite, apprehension and acidic rage bubbling in his already churning gut. Laying his fork down quietly, he took a small sip of water to moisten his suddenly dry throat.

"About what you said earlier," he started, attempting nonchalance when all he wanted to do was scream and pitch his plate against the wall.

"Hmm?" the man asked, forking a piece of chicken. He waited, eyes wide.

"I guess I just wanted to thank you," Kyle said, feeling like his pride and heart were being shredded with every word, but knowing he needed to capitulate if he was going to get anywhere in this situation. "For saving me from that guy, I mean. That was really nice, especially when you didn't have to step in."

"Oh, Kyle," the man said, putting his fork down and leaning forward, his expression becoming intense. "Any decent person would've intervened. You don't have to thank me for what I did, even though I really appreciate it." Almost appearing ecstatic, he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and tapped his plate. "God, this is good. I'm so impressed."

"I think you're giving me way too much credit," Kyle almost winced, unused to being heaped with so much praise - unless it was at work or after he'd given a guy an unusually amazing blow job. Not that he gifted people with oral sex that often; usually insisting on being the receiver. "But, thanks. I'm glad you like it."

"I love it," the man grinned, popping a piece of broccoli into his mouth. Leaning his head on his hand, he watched Kyle with obvious fondness as he worked his way through his meal. 

Shifting uneasily in his chair, Kyle kept his eyes on his plate as he methodically masticated, barely tasting the food in his mouth as he took slow, careful bites. His stomach felt too tight and it seemed to fill very quickly, and before he was half done he'd set his fork down and pushed his food away.

"I thought for sure you'd eat more," the man commented, though Kyle didn't raise his head to look at him. "You eat like a little bird, don't you?"

"I've never been a big eater," Kyle replied, running a finger along the edge of the plate, his mind traveling once again to the knife tucked away. "I usually run on coffee and -"

"Booze?" the man asked, but he didn't ask this in an accusatory way. If anything, he sounded amused.

"Sure," he almost whispered, thinking of the bottles of white zin waiting for him at home in the door of the fridge. Usually at this time of night he'd be indulging in a few glasses while finishing up some work...or maybe he'd be getting ready to go out to a bar; out there, out where life was still happening without him. He'd never missed the bustling, light-filled harbor so much in his life, or his balcony where he could stand and look out over everything; the people passing by and the yachts bobbing in the green waters that reflected the city teeming above them.

"You seem pensive all of a sudden. Anything on your mind you'd like to share?"

"I have to go back," Kyle said softly, still keeping his eyes averted. "I have work tomorrow morning...they'll be expecting me. I never call out."

Quiet, save for the music, stole across the room as the tension swelled in Kyle's gut; an inflated balloon that pressed up against his rib cage. It almost made him feel short of breath.

"Do you even like your job?" the man asked, taking Kyle off guard. He finally looked up, his brow furrowed with confusion.

"What?"

"I mean, does it make you happy? What you do?" Pushing his plate away, the man clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them. He waited, face passive.

"I...I don't know," Kyle replied, having never really thought about it before. "It pays well and I get to travel, so -"

"That's not what I asked, Kyle. I asked if it made you _happy_. Yes or no."

"What the fuck does that matter?!" Kyle yelled, some of his restraint evaporating; hands clenched on the edge of the table. Immediately, the collar snapped at him and he grimaced, his fingers gripping tighter; fire lancing through them as his cuts woke up and pulsed.

"I think that answers my question," the man said, his tone infuriatingly calm and sure. "If it did you wouldn't even need to think about it, you'd just know. Don't you agree?"

"Don't preach to me, you smug fucking prick," Kyle snapped, almost wanting to bare his teeth. "What, does your job make you happy? Christ, do you even _have_ a job?"

"Yes, I do," the man replied simply, without skipping a beat. "And yes, it makes me very happy. It's fulfilling...I think everyone should do something that gives them a sense of purpose."

"That's really touching," Kyle muttered, his jaw clenched. "Regardless, I still have to get back so I don't get fired...I have bills to pay, and -"

"Believe me, money isn't an object in this situation," the man cut him off while looking around. "Do you think beachfront property is cheap? I make enough for both of us and then some."  


Kyle just stared at him for a long moment, dumbstruck at the implication in the man's words. This couldn't be real, right? No, he had to be hearing things, or maybe he was having a full mental breakdown and reality was just a thing of the past.

"You act like I'm going to live with you forever," he said faintly, his words coming across as brittle as see-through candy. "You...you can't possibly think that I'm going to stay here and let you...what are you even thinking right now? Are you completely out of your mind?"

Seemingly ignoring Kyle's incredulity, the man suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Kyle nearly whimpered, waiting for him to produce the remote control, but his jaw almost hit the floor when he saw something completely different resting in the stranger's palm.

"My phone," he almost breathed, nearly convinced that he was hallucinating. Before he could stop himself, he slowly began to rise from his place.

"Stay," the man said, pulling the remote from his other pocket. He held it up as well, a look of approval crossing his face when Kyle obeyed; sinking into his chair immediately. "Now, I'm going to write an email to your boss about you being out of work for a while, and you're going to tell me what to say so it sounds believable. Understand?"

Tearing up, Kyle shook his head slowly at first before he became frantic, a sob escaping his lips that made him cringe.

_ I'm so pathetic. How did I become so pathetic so quickly?! _

"Don't upset yourself," the man said soothingly, a strange light of what could almost be considered remorse showing up in his expression. "This is for the best, Kyle...you'll thank me eventually, I know you will. You've tied yourself down to something that's eating you alive...you're wasting your potential. Can't you see that?"

_That isn't for you to decide...none of this is._ _You've just decided all of this on your own and I'm supposed to accept it as the gospel truth. It's sick. You're sick._

Biting back tears, Kyle nodded, defeat nearly crushing him in its fist but his tenuous hopes still bolstered somewhat by the knife. At the moment, it was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

"I don't want to ruin our nice dinner with all of this nonsense, though," the man said, breaking into Kyle's thoughts with the gentility of a guillotine. "Why don't we have dessert first and then we can attend to business. Would you like that?"

Wrapping his arms around himself, Kyle nodded again before slumping forward. Tears still balanced in his eyes but they didn't fall, making his vision a watercolor mess. 

"Great," the man said cheerfully. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor wafted to Kyle's ears, then the clinking of china, and then he could feel the man's terrible warmth at his side. Drawing into himself, he dug his nails into his arms as hard as he could. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently, picking up Kyle's plate. "You like ice cream, right?"

"Yes."

"Any particular flavor? I have chocolate, vanilla -"

"I don't care. Anything is fine," Kyle murmured, his eyes closing as the tears finally fell; streaking hot currents down his cheeks. "Really."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

Raising his face slightly, Kyle watched in his peripheral as the man left the room, not moving until he was completely alone. Then, with his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest, he slowly slid his hand down his leg and lifted his jeans, deftly pulling down his sock until the cool, solid length of the knife fell into his hand. He nearly shuddered at the beauty of it, the sensation that he wasn't completely helpless in that moment, elated to have just a little power back in his corner.

Not allowing himself to dwell on the moment for too long, Kyle quickly pulled down his pant leg and straightened himself, allowing his long sleeve to drift over his hand to cover the weapon, which he tucked along the underside of his forearm.

_He won't be happy he made me borrow his hoodie now_, he thought, a malicious joy crackling like lightening through his brain. Licking along his bottom lip, he could already imagine bringing the implement down, watching it connect with the man's skin and then -

"Here we go," the man called out in a singsong voice as he came back into the room, two bowls in his hands. He set one at his place before he came over to Kyle, giving him a little wink as he leaned over, his arm, throat, and the side of his face tantalizingly vulnerable. "I ended up deciding on chocolate for you, but I added -"

It was then that Kyle let the knife slither into his palm and, clutching it tightly, lifted it swiftly and brought it down on the man's bicep as hard as he could, relishing in the way the man yelled in agony when the metal connected. Standing, he swallowed down a triumphant yell as he readied to attack again, savagely euphoric at the sight of blood creeping down that tattooed skin. Adrenaline rushed through him in a dizzying wave as he stabbed at the man again, this time aiming for his neck, wanting to sever his jugular, hungry to see _him_ begging for mercy for once. 

"That's enough!" the man barked, taking a hold of Kyle's hand and squeezing it in just the right place, his thumb digging into one of the wounds as hard as he could. Kyle screamed, both from the pain and from the sudden jolt of the collar, tenaciously fighting through the agony and blindly swinging at the man; clumsy and desperate. 

"I'll fucking kill you," he eked out, his tongue feeling too thick inside his mouth. "I swear to God, I'll fucking kill -"

Jumping back, the man moved so quickly that Kyle only saw a flash of the remote before he was falling flat on the floor, clutching at his head and neck as he was once again immobilized, but this time the man kept the electricity flowing until it became excruciating. It flowed through him until he dropped the knife and he was arching dramatically, his eyes rolling back in his head as he wordlessly mouthed. Eternities passed and died away as he writhed, positive that he was simply going to expire this time, welcoming it beyond measure, if only to be free from the torment.

All at once, though, he felt the collar quieting again before he was being dragged by the hood of his sweater; his clothes rasping against the carpet as he was pulled along a dark hallway. Head lolling, he was barely coherent when he felt himself being slammed down on the bed, his arms jerked upward as the cuffs were locked around his wrists. Weakly, he pulled, blearily opening his eyes to see the man locking the cuffs around his ankles.

"You can't keep me here forever," Kyle said, too exhausted and confused to lift his head from the pillow. "I'll find a way out...I won't stop trying until I do."

"You do that," the man muttered, holding his bleeding arm before retreating from the room. Kyle was drifting mindlessly when he returned, his shadow falling over him before he finally managed to open his eyes. He lay something on the nightstand, a piece of paper that he propped against the golden alarm clock. 

"For you," he said, his voice a terrible mixture of sadness and deep, twisted anger. "I was going to give it to you after dinner, but I guess now's as good a time as any. Not that it matters at this point; not after you ruined everything."

He left then, leaving Kyle to weakly shift so he could see what he'd left behind. Eyes widening, he saw that it was a delicate sketch of himself rendered in fine, black ink; skilled and so lifelike that he could scarcely believe it. It almost looked like he was going to turn his head and say something. Opening his mouth, he tried to scream but found that he was too afraid of the consequences, folding inward when he realized, yet again, that he was falling into line...learning to obey because he wasn't given any other choice.  


The tears that had started before came back as he looked at the picture and became aware of just how far he'd already fallen, turning into sobs that were so violent he began to retch; pulled upward from the deepest, most miserable caverns of his body. They didn't cleanse him, though, leaving him feeling sick and filled with such a potent sadness that lasted for what felt like hours; fear and agony mixing until it created a cocktail of pure misery. He wasn't granted any sort of respite until he finally wound down like a clock, eyes clenched shut as he prayed for deliverance; sleep claiming him long after midnight had come and gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Summer Crossing - Truman Capote


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: disturbing themes, I guess? what am I talking about...this whole story is a disturbing theme. xD Anyway, read at your own discretion.
> 
> hey guys, it's been awhile, huh? I hope someone's still reading (a refrain I will post at the beginning of most of my fics bc i'm so bad at updating in a timely fashion. what can I say? i'm a blob), and if you are, thanks! it means a lot. I was hoping for more revelations in this chapter but it didn't play out like that...I guess i'm just biding my time. or something. you think I actually know what i'm doing here?? xD
> 
> ENJOY! <3
> 
> ps: thanks for the comments on the last chapter. honestly, they're what ultimately motivated me to keep going w this story. sometimes they're just the push I need to try, try again, lol.

The world right before waking was like being underwater, Kyle thought; staring upward with wide eyes as the sky and currents drifted over him. It was a glass box, or perhaps a coffin when the nightmares were especially terrible.

His sleep was thin and restless before he finally opened his eyes, the images behind his lids nonsensical; more teeth falling out of his mouth, large ponds with spiders nesting on the shores, following his late grandfather down an endless staircase to nowhere; Kyle apologizing the whole time for not going to his funeral.

He was greeted with heavy silence when he awoke, lying in the large bed and listening intently for anything to indicate that the man was awake as well. Aside from the ongoing ticking of the golden alarm clock, there was nothing; not even the patter of rainfall on the roof or wind rushing by. In that moment, he was well and truly alone, and as much as he didn't want the man's company, he was afraid of this forced solitude.

At home, his morning routine never really changed: wake up to his phone alarm going off, lie and stare at the shadows on the ceiling while listening to the sounds of the city coming to life (horns blaring, traffic humming far away, the occasional shout from down below; a messy, sporadic din), eventually rousing himself enough to shuffle into the kitchen and heading directly for the Keurig; checking his onslaught of texts while he waited, shivering in his boxers and tshirt.

Sometimes there was an awkward parting with a date that had stayed over, not that that happened very often. Usually the tryst was done as soon as they both came (if they were fortunate), Kyle sending him on his way before his heartrate had even had time to go back to normal. He didn't relish the idea of sharing his bed with anyone overnight, mainly because they never seemed to fit with the overall picture of his life; what he needed or craved.

Usually his assistant was already awake and bombarding him with reminders, most of which made Kyle roll his eyes before sighing, finishing his first cup of coffee for the day, and then heading for the shower. Naked, he would stare at himself in the mirror and touch his hair, cut shorter after he became an adult but still rebellious; dark circles under his eyes where the little lines steadily etched themselves deeper every year.

In the glass shower, hot and steaming, he would jack off and try not to overthink or indulge in the residual shame when he was done, turning his mind to the day ahead: meetings, clients, a dinner date that he wanted to be optimistic about but knowing, on some level, that he would just be disappointed. Like always.

He was just about to step out of his own front door when the alarm clock started to scream, crashing him back to reality where the restraints were heavy around his wrists and ankles; body aching from being confined for too long and not allowed to move beyond an extremely limited scope. The collar shifted when he turned onto his back, the padlock settling in the hollow between his collar bones, nearly making him whimper. He bit back the impulse, determined to be strong, stoic; the world didn't need to know that he was crashing down on the inside. He was afraid that would give the man too much satisfaction; the idea infuriating him.

Not that the man was making it easy to figure him out, alternating between casual, almost easy, cruelty and extreme indulgence. Sometimes his attentions almost felt worshipful, and Kyle couldn't be sure what was more disturbing...the kindness or the terror. It certainly didn't help that he still couldn't place him, but he supposed it made sense. Kyle had made it a silent mission to not focus on the past for so long that it was second nature now.

But memories were strange, fickle creatures, he knew, usually emerging at the most inopportune times and with very little rhyme or reason. The stars on the ceiling... that long ago room with the blue carpet... in what universe did these elements exist, if they even existed at all? Were they connected to the man?

The ongoing shriek of the clock was making it hard to focus at this point, shrill and incessant and going on and on and on and on until he was sure he'd jump right out of his skin.

"Maybe he's asleep," he whispered, staring at the ceiling, at the unmoving fan with the dark wooden blades. "He probably just hasn't heard it yet."

Turning his head, he stared at the clock.

8:03 am.

So, if his guess was right, it'd been ringing for three minutes already.

"He's a deep sleeper," he said, not truly believing his own words.

_He's still here, right? He couldn't have just gone off and left me chained up. Nobody's that cruel._

Sickening dread wasn't too far behind this thought; an uncurling of unease in an already churning gut. After all, he clearly had no idea what this man was capable of, and the world often proved that there was no ceiling when it came to cruelty.

When another five minutes of metallic screeching passed, Kyle tried to distract himself from invasive worries... being left to rot, to starve, to simply die like a chained dog. His bladder, which had been twinging before, was waking up and reminding him that it needed to be emptied before too long. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, which was laughable considering his situation.

"Focus on something else," he said with more courage than he really had. "You can do this, Kyle. Mind over matter. He'll be back before too long and then you'll hate yourself for overreacting anyway."

Another two minutes passed and now the screaming alarm was beginning to sound human, like a woman being stabbed. Desperately, his eyes skipped from the clock and landed on the sketch the man left, which he had to admit was wonderful and obviously done by a talented hand, but that didn't make it altogether comforting. Still, a distraction was a distraction, and he was in no position to be picky. He wasn't in a place to ask for anything.

Delicate black lines of ink wove themselves into his likeness: unruly hair, nose a little too large, pointed chin, eyes too wide giving him the appearance of a startled animal, vague splash of freckles along the bridge of his nose, a frown -

"It makes sense," he muttered, eyes skipping over the drawing. "I certainly don't have a reason to smile these days, do I?"

The man had captured a flattering version of him, almost so kind that it bordered on being unrealistic, but there was something about it...a subtle honesty. It had been drawn from admiration, he thought; it wasn't an attempt at mockery, which only served to make it more unnerving.

The clock wailed for five more agonizing minutes when Kyle noticed what he assumed was the man's signature; a tiny sketch of an umbrella, and through the haze of racing thoughts and his bladder beginning to ache from fullness, he remembered with savage quickness that he'd seen that tiny, innocuous symbol before; spray painted on a wall very close to his home, his work...even on an index card he'd found outside of his door once; just that umbrella and nothing else.

Now the cuffs around his wrists and ankles were even heavier when he tried to curl into himself, his skin cold with prickles of new, oozing perspiration; a wretched tightness in his throat and scalp. He'd been weirded out by the card but he hadn't given it much thought; head figured it'd been left by a random crazy or a jilted lover. How could he have known it would all circle back to this horrible place?

The realization that all of this, whatever this situation could be called, went deeper than he'd already guessed hit him like ice water being thrown in his face. Hadn't the man said he'd always enjoyed watching him? It was obvious he hadn't been exaggerating... especially since the card was left over three years ago, right after he'd moved into the condo overlooking the harbor. If he was remembering correctly, he'd only been there a few months....

Which begged the question, how long had this been going on? Being watched, clearly being followed and tracked? The clue the man had given him made his blood run even colder; a sharp chill working its way down his back, vertebrae by vertebrae.

"We knew each other as kids," he said, staring at the vines of early morning shadow seeping across the wall.

Childhood was nothing but a haze now, as formless and nonsensical as the soft dark splotches he was focused on. College was long behind him, as was most of his 20s, even his ten-year high school reunion, but he couldn't let himself dwell on that. Stan had appeared so complete, so whole even without him, and that's what he wanted, to see that happiness and fulfillment, didn't he? Even if it came with a price. Wasn't that true love?

No. No, this was definitely an alley of the mind he was not willing to turn down. Especially not now. The bright memories of stan, the as-yet untarnished ones, could not be brought into this equation and damaged. He wouldn't let that happen. Yes, he had sailed past the end of innocence, he could accept that; he wasn't small anymore. At least, not in age.

But this place... the man... his circumstances, God, they made him feel small again in that helpless, profoundly terrifying way, and being an adult made it all the worse, because he was supposed to be in control of his own destiny, wasn't he?

"Stop, just be quiet," he said to the crying clock, "just fucking stop already. So I can think. I need to think!"

But thinking was proving dangerous, compounding his growing pile of fears and agonies. But it was necessary... to remember, to think of a solution.

"I was going to let it go for an hour, but I don't think that's necessary," the man said, bustling into the room and speaking like he was picking up a conversation from minutes before. He stopped next to the bed and shut off the alarm; gazing down at Kyle who watched him with a deeper sense of fear. "Do you?"

Grey eyes, not altogether unkind but extremely watchful; more stubble than the day before littering a sharp jawline. The man's hair was slightly mussed, like fingers had been run through it, and there were violet patches under his eyes. A white length of gauze was wound around his arm where Kyle had stabbed him. All of this culminated to complete a predatory, unpredictable picture. As such, Kyle didn't answer, opting instead to shake his head and pray that there was safety in compliant silence.

"Mind you, it was as much for myself as for you," the man said briskly as he pulled a keyring from his pocket. He unlocked the ankle cuffs and inspected Kyle's skin, seemingly satisfied that the bandages from before were in place and there weren't any new abrasions to doctor. "I didn't want to rush in here and do something I'd regret later," he continued, attending to the wrist cuffs. "And I wanted to give you a chance to wake up and maybe think a little."

"Think?" Kyle asked before he could stop himself, feeling dim and slow as the man lifted his arms to appraise them; wanting to pull away but not daring.

"Mhmm, about your conduct, being impulsive...everything." He nodded and straightened, letting Kyle go slowly; reluctantly. Adjusting the sketch on the nightstand a fraction, he sucked some breath through his teeth softly. "That was an ugly scene last night, huh?"

Sitting up slowly, Kyle rubbed his aching wrists before pushing himself farther away, his focus flitting to the man's bandage on occasion. A small, cold tremor passed through him as he became even more aware of his bladder's agonizing fullness. He could smell the sweat rising up from his pores; acrid, stale, cloying. He almost gagged.

Sighing, the man rubbed his mouth and began to back away toward the door.

"Get yourself together and meet me in the kitchen, okay? We need to have a discussion and I want you to have a clear head for it. Work for you?"

Kyle nodded, the taste of unspoken words and dry mouth making his tongue a useless weight in his head.

"I'll make coffee," the man said, turning away. "Don't take forever. I'm not always the most patient person."

Being in the bathroom without the man lingering outside, waiting, was a surreal experience but Kyle reveled in it, though he did hurry despite himself. The man hadn't exactly threatened him if he took his time, but he wasn't going to risk angering him if he could avoid it. It infuriated him that he even gave a damn, but such was his reality.

After relieving himself, he took a whore's bath at the sink, wanting to take a shower but refraining because of the collar; half-tempted to give in and just wreck the fucking thing, but once again self-preservation (such as it was) won out over his baser nature. It was amazing how the simple act of wiping himself down with a warm washcloth and lemon soap could revive him, but he did feel more like himself after he was done; purposely avoiding his reflection. He was sure he looked terrible, greasy hair and all, and he just didn't have the strength to face so brutal a truth so early in the morning; a cowed, fearful version of himself. A stranger.

After dressing in fresh clothes (jeans and a black tshirt, both in line with his taste but awful because the man has purchased them while clearly having Kyle in mind), he followed the rich, dark scent of coffee into the hallway, making a quick detour toward the front door; heart sinking like a rock to see new locks added; heavy, strong.

"Kyle?" the man's voice floated in from the kitchen, making the hair rise on his arms.

He wanted to claw at the locks and rip them off, hurl himself through the window; little patterns of dappled sunlight running over his feet and openly taunting him. The rain had gone away since last night, leaving behind a sky the color of a robin's egg. Instead, he turned and walked toward the kitchen, scanning the walls and seeing more of the man's work; sketches and a painting of a city skyline. He nearly gagged to see the little umbrella in the corners of each.

"Did you get lost?" the man teased pleasantly when Kyle entered the room. He was sitting at the table in front of the large picture window, where the sea frothed beyond the slope of beach. It was tranquil that morning; white arcs of gulls riding drafts of wind that carried them toward the horizon. He leisurely sipped from a mug and pointed to the maker. "Help yourself."

Kyle eyed the waiting pot warily before sighing and preparing a cup, the rich aroma of cinnamon underlying the coffee's scent. He pushed aside a very familiar bag of grounds (the same kind he used at home, he noticed with a nauseated pang) while reaching for the Splenda; glancing around to see if he was being watched even now. The man was gazing out the window instead, socked foot thumping the base of the table.

Clouds of cream rose up in the chipped mug he'd chosen, quickly stirred away while Kyle tried to clear his head. If he didn't, he'd scream, he was sure of it... hysteria rising in his throat. Before too long, he was seated across from the man, cups placed between them along with novelty salt and pepper shakers shaped like cheerful cats.

"Inherited from my grandmother," the man said, tapping one, long muscles flexing in his outstretched arm, rife with tattoos. Yet another umbrella had been inked on the inside of his right wrist, mirroring his signature perfectly.

"What's it called when you notice something, and then you start seeing it everywhere?" Kyle asked, feeling like he was losing his mind, if that hadn't happened already, of course. "You know what I mean, right? It's an illusion or whatever, or am I thinking of something that doesn't exist?"

The man was quiet for a moment while he thought, chewing lightly at his bottom lip as his eyes roamed over Kyle's face before they caught, their gazes converging. He popped his lips before reaching into his pocket.

"I think I know what you're talking about," he replied, pulling out the little remote and then a phone with a battered black cover. "Why don't we look it up? Now I'm interested, too."

Kyle watched the remote while the man used his phone, his hatred for the small object so profound it almost scared him; that bitter animosity. He placed his hands on his thighs and dug his nails into his jeans, teeth clenched until he thought his jaw would crack. He could hear the Kit Cat Klock ticking away from its place in the living room.

"The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon," the man spoke, pulling Kyle's focus from the clock and the weight hanging around his neck, "'otherwise known as frequency illusion or recency illusion. This phenomenon occurs when the thing you've just noticed, experienced or been told about suddenly crops up constantly."' He looked up, a quick flick of his irises. "What brought this up so suddenly?"

Kyle studied the umbrella on the curve of the stranger's wrist before shrugging and looking down into his steaming mug. A small part of him, the curious, less rational part, wanted to talk about the icon and how it'd come to visit him so close to his stomping ground; worse yet, the elegant scrawl on that innocuous, little card....

"No reason, I guess," he lied carefully, lifting his drink to his lips and sipping, wanting to cry because the taste of the coffee was the same as it was at home, almost eerily so. It just made everything feel that much more surreal and dreamlike. "My mind wandered to weird places this morning...I had a lot of time to think," he added, finding it hard to keep the reproach out of his tone.

"So did I," his counterpart replied, using his finger to idly rotate his mug in a sloppy circle. "I was able to mull through a few things last night after you...after we parted company. I mean, I was working so that always helps; I can pour myself into whatever it is I'm focused on, but I was thinking, too." He paused and smiled. "Backburner thinking, you know...but I feel better now. Wanna know why?"

Kyle remained silent, waiting. He had a feeling the question was rhetorical, anyway.

"Because I understand, Kyle...why you did what you did. I get it."

"You do?" Kyle asked, thoroughly convinced he was hearing things. "I don't -"

"You're angry," the man continued, nodding slowly as he toyed with the mug, nearly making it tip on occasion; keeping Kyle on edge. "Why shouldn't you be? You're in a new place with someone you can't remember, trying to get used to a completely different way of life. I bet you feel helpless, confused... I'm sure I'd feel the same way if I were in your position. How could I not?"

A soft ray of sunlight settled over one of the novelty cats as Kyle processed everything he'd just heard, the man's words more disturbing than a series of threats or curses. Trying to latch onto his receding sense of calm, attempting to appear self-possessed, he reached out and lifted a shaker into his hand, balancing the blue cat with the pink ribbon around its throat in his palm; fingers closing around it slowly when he began to shake.

_He understands. He knows. He realizes this is wrong, so how could he...?_

"If you understand how I feel then how can you keep me here?" he asked lowly. "Don't you realize that just makes it worse... you knowing on some level that what you're doing is wrong and still doing it anyway?" Gulping, he had to stop himself from throwing the cat against the wall like the ill-fated coffee cup from the day before. "Just what the fuck is wrong with you?! Why are you doing this to me?!"

Grimacing, Kyle leaned forward when the collar worked its evil magic; raw pulses searing through his skin. Gasping, he lay his head against the cool wood of the table.

"I never said that what I'm doing is wrong," the man said quietly. "I can just understand why you're responding the way you are... it's human nature to want to rebel, but I can see the longterm here, even if you can't, Kyle. A man doesn't always know when he's drowning, but that's what you were doing before I brought you here." He stopped when Kyle looked at him, his expression becoming indulgent. "You were two steps away from hitting rock bottom, you know. Believe me, I've had some very low times...I know what I'm talking about."

"You don't know anything about me," Kyle replied caustically. "You think you do, but you don't, so stop acting like you have a say over my life or how I live it. Where the hell do you get off, huh?"

"I can only base my opinions on what I've observed," he said, standing and leaving the room. Momentarily, he returned, carrying a messenger bag, a very familiar messenger bag; black and sleek. He placed it on the table between them.

"That's mine," Kyle said, reaching out to take it before the man slid it away; expression warning Kyle to keep still. He gripped the cat harder when the man began to unzip the bag, everything in him urging him to rise up and take back what belonged to him. "What are you doing? You can't look in there!"

Ignoring him, the man started pulling out prescription bottles and lining them up on the table, calling out the medicine's names as he went:

"Zolpidem, adderall, clonazepam, Alprazolam, Lorazepam, vicodin -"

"Shut up! I don't have to explain myself to you!" Kyle shouted, slamming the cat down and honestly amazed when it didn't shatter. He rose from his chair, the bottles and coffee cups shivering when his hip struck the table, the collar attacking him again. "Since when is being anxious or being in pain a crime?! Or having trouble sleeping?! Stop acting like you're so fucking perfect; get off your goddamn high horse!"

"I've never labored under the delusion that I'm perfect," the man said, adjusting the bottles so they lined up with the table's edge; a parade of orange soldiers with white labels. "Not once. I know I'm fucked in the head, but I don't hate myself. Not like I used to."

"I don't hate myself," Kyle muttered, feeling covetous as he stared at the row of pharmaceuticals. What he wouldn't give for a fucking xanax in that moment. Xanax and a white wine chaser...lying back and allowing the haze to consume him until he gave in completely. Sleeping without dreams would be paradise.

"Fucking pill pushers...I can remember having this garbage shoved down my throat, too. What made it worse was that I was a kid and wasn't allowed to say no," the man commented with a sneer. "You, on the other hand, have a choice."

"Sometimes I just need something to make my thoughts less...loud," Kyle said, studying his hands, turning them over and watching the bones ripple under the thin skin. "There's so much static inside of my head, and then I can't sleep and..."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting quiet," the man said gently, nodding. "Or peace, or... needing to escape yourself for awhile, but this isn't the way to go about it." He studied the bottle's labels. "Most of these are written by the same doctor. How did you talk them into prescribing you such a bizarre and contradictory list of meds?"

Warmth crept into Kyle's cheeks at this question, making him hide his face. Dr. Ledgerwood was a handsome man, with dark eyes and the jawline of a model... he also had certain weaknesses, redheads being one of them; especially the vulnerable ones with a flair for promiscuity. Reaching out, he scooped the cat into his hand again.

"I don't want to talk about that. I'm anxious and have difficulty focusing, end of story. As for the pain meds, my neck and back are fucked up from a car accident i was in a few years ago. Slipped discs."

"I remember that," the man said, feeding Kyle's growing nausea. His look of sadness didn't help, like they were sharing a memory they'd experienced together.

"How?" he asked, sinking into his chair; suddenly too exhausted to stand anymore. "How do you remember that? I was by myself when it happened and... we're nothing to each other."

"Maybe in your mind, but I can't share that sentiment," the man said flippantly. "I didn't have to be present to know about the things that happened to you, Kyle. There's so many ways to keep tabs on a person, especially in this day and age."

"Fine," Kyle snapped, pushing the cat away and crossing his arms; wanting to close himself off as much as possible. "I'm not going to try and convince you otherwise. You've already admitted that you're fucked in the head, so anything I say won't make a different anyway. Right?"

"I'd say I'm just about as stubborn as you are," the man grinned before gathering up the bottles and depositing them in the bag. "I was just trying to illustrate my point... you needed a change and I've provided you with one. Happy people don't drink to excess, abuse prescriptions, and fuck around with total strangers. Would you say that's a fair assessment?"

"Psychotic kidnappers aren't exactly in the best position to pass judgement," Kyle snapped viciously, hands itching to circle the man's throat and squeeze. "Anything I've done pales in comparison to what's happening right now, you sadistic fuck. I don't care how noble your intentions are; your execution makes me sick."

"We're going in circles," the man sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Now's the time to establish some ground rules."

Kyle stared at him incredulously. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No. For starters, you don't seem to do well with a lot of idle time," the man said easily while standing. He went and poured himself more coffee. Catching Kyle's eye, his expression darkened. "I'd like to think that if your mind and hands are occupied, and supervised, you won't feel the need to plan nasty little schemes. True, you didn't do much damage last night, but that doesn't mean I want a repeat performance."

"I was aiming for your throat," Kyle muttered, hugging himself tighter.

"I'm sure you were." Stirring his drink, the man returned to the table and sat, idly tugging at the gauze wrapped around his bicep. "On that note, you will have tasks to perform every day. To my satisfaction, of course; subject to change when and if I see fit."

"And if I refuse?" Kyle asked, an involuntary, tiny twitch developing under his right eye.

Wordlessly, the man placed the black remote on the table between them. After a moment, he pulled Kyle's phone from his pocket and set it down as well. Heart thudding, Kyle stared at the pair; revolted but mesmerized.

"Punishment and reward," the man murmured, tapping each object in turn. "If you refuse to cooperate, I'll be forced to use this," he stopped, his finger resting on the remote. "If you obey, I'll share what's on here." His finger drifted to Kyle's phone.

"What do you mean?" Sitting forward, Kyle lay his hands on the table, staring at the phone like a starving man. "What's on it? Tell me, please."

"I won't show my hand that easily," the man smiled, pulling the objects closer. "But I know what and who is important to you... even if it tears me up inside, I know. This person, and I think you know exactly who I'm talking about, may have sent you a text. Several, in fact."

A sickening excitement, painful and laced with a breathless, sudden euphoria erupted in Kyle's gut, almost making him pitch forward. Involuntarily, his hand slid across the table; driven by desperation.

"You could be lying," he said, praying this was the case. Not because he didn't want to hear from _him_, but not wanting this person to have that sort of leverage over him, not when it came to -

_Stan. Is it happening already? So soon? That can't be right... didn't I just see you at the reunion?_

"I suppose I could be," the man agreed, tucking the phone away but keeping the remote at hand. "But do you want to run the risk of being wrong? What's there to gain from that?"

"What do I gain from mindlessly obeying?" Kyle whispered. "It's like you don't want me to have any dignity at all."

"Quite the contrary," the man said, his tone becoming so kind that he sounded like a different person; someone incapable of spiriting Kyle away in the middle of the night to parts unknown. "I want to give you your dignity back... make you see that the way you've been living is not the life you were meant to have. I want so much more for you, Kyle... can't you see that?"

\------

It didn't take Kyle long to figure out that the kitchen had been stripped of any potential usefulness.

As he made breakfast that morning, it became obvious that several changes had been made in the night: sliding open drawers, he saw that any sharp implements had been removed, as had the knife block. In fact, the majority of the cooking utensils had been taken away; leaving only the bare essentials.

"I've counted everything, too," the man said dryly, not looking up while reading the paper. "Just to simplify things."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to complicate this situation," Kyle muttered, fingers tapping the counter as he waited for a pan to preheat. The man had explained that Kyle would be in charge of cooking going forward, and what better time to start than the present?

"Dinner last night was a promising start," he'd smiled, "and naturally you'll continue to learn as you go. It'll be interesting to watch you progress, don't you think?"

Now Kyle was making the easiest thing he could think of that wasn't cereal (he'd offered that to the man, who'd merely given him an impassive quirk of a brow), french toast, while the man sat by; eerily cheerful after the bizarre exchange they'd had. He'd all but laid out his plans to turn Kyle into his personal servant like they were engaging in mundane small talk.

_Cooking, cleaning... tasks. I'm his glorified little bitc_h, Kyle seethed as he cracked eggs and whisked them into a yellow froth. _How can he say he wants to give me my dignity back and then force me to fucking serve him? He's more demented than I thought._

Soon the saturated slices of bread were sizzling quietly in the pan, their scent mingling with the coffee aroma that permeated the chilled kitchen. Kyle glanced at the man, still engrossed in his paper, and shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

He should be at work, readying for his morning tête-à-tête with his boss. God, Steven must be frantic by now. The email the man had sent on his behalf, explaining his unexpected absence as a vague "emergency", just wouldn't do. Hell, he wouldn't even let Kyle see what he'd written, nor would he tell him how his boss had responded.

_He'll just use it as more fucking leverage_, he thought, clumsily flipping the bread; the tops laced with cooked brown and white egg. _My career is hanging in the balance while I play house with a psycho...and the texts he mentioned...._

Now he really couldn't keep still, a hand slipping upward to graze the collar. He pulled a plate out of the cabinet and set it down; searched for maple syrup and got it out as well.

"I'll have fruit, too," the man said, snapping the paper as he turned a page. "Strawberries and bananas, I think."

Kyle's hands clenched on the counter while he tried to take deep, even breaths.

_I was getting ready to go to China next week_, he lamented, eyes burning at the thought. _Now who will they send? No one else can handle that client... he's too volatile. Steven told me that, not that he needed to; I already knew. I knew -_

"I left a plastic knife for you to use," the man cut into his thoughts like red-hot wire, "there, in the drawer to your left."

Kyle's hands trembled when he finally set a plate before his captor, though it wasn't from fear but barely-contained fury. The man's obvious delight at the French toast and fruit carefully arranged didn't help.

"Aren't you going to join me?" he asked, picking up his fork and stabbing into a chunk of glistening strawberry; juice spilling out in garish, nauseating trails.

"I'm not hungry," Kyle snapped, turning away to start cleaning up.

"You barely ate anything last night, Kyle. If you're trying to starve yourself, forget about it. I'll force-feed you before I let that happen." Silence descended, save for the clinking of cutlery, and then a deep sigh. "Oh, this is delicious. It kind of tastes like my grandma's cooking."

Kyle glanced over his shoulder as he loaded the dishwasher, casting a fleeting glance at the cat-shaped salt and pepper shakers. Morbid curiosity got the better of him, spurned by his desire to overlook the man's offhand comment about force-feeding him should the need arise.

"Were you close with your grandmother?"

"Very," the man replied, cutting off another chunk of toast. "Can you bring me the syrup?"

Gritting his teeth, Kyle complied, setting the bottle down with almost exaggerated calmness. It was either that or he'd throw the thing right at the crazy fucker's face.

"She was always on my side," the man continued, drizzling his plate with the syrup. "Especially after my parents fucked everything up. She was the only one who tried to help me... before I was sent away, anyway. After that, there wasn't a whole lot she could do."

"Sent away?" Kyle asked, blinking. A brief thought rose in his head like a sea creature momentarily surfacing: holding someone's hand while the sound of china breaking against walls could be heard; angry screaming and ugly words sliding under a shut door. A dark room with green stars glowing above them. He shook his head, eyes trailing once again over the man's one crooked incisor. "What do you mean sent away? To where?"

"Let's not spoil such a nice meal with ugly talk," he replied, his tone cheery but an unspoken wall rising up between them regardless. "We'll get to all of that in time, when we're ready. I was just trying to say that your food makes me feel at home... cozy. It's nice."

"Please, just tell me what my boss said," Kyle pleaded, switching tactics; hoping that his efforts would afford him even minor liberties. "Did he seem angry, or-"

"Show me you can behave and I'll tell you everything you need to know," the man interjected, waving his hand. "Those are my terms for now."

Kyle never would've guessed that such a diminutive home (a cottage, really) could have so many crevasses and nooks and secret places to clean, but he was a quick study. As the days slowly passed, sluggish as taffy melting on a blazing sidewalk, it became evident that he was being lorded over by a man preoccupied and obsessed with details.

Nothing escaped his notice, it seemed, and he was an obvious perfectionist. Kyle could identify with that honestly, wanting things to be done right, but he'd never been overly concerned with domestic tasks and manual labor. He'd had a cleaning lady come in a couple times a week in his other (real) life, and had been content to let her handle those sorts of affairs. But here, in this place, it all fell on his shoulders, and he hated it.

Every day he focused on a different room, deep-cleaning and organizing it to the man's exacting specifications. It started with the kitchen, the man sitting before the picture window and working on his laptop or sketching while he supervised. Awash in humiliation, Kyle emptied the refrigerator and scrubbed it down, the freezer too, before moving onto the cabinets to rearrange the dishes.

"You'll need to re-line them too," the man said, plunking contact paper on the counter. "They're overdue."

"This is ridiculous," Kyle said, already fatigued from working half the morning, and that was after fixing yet another breakfast following a fitful night of chained-up, unsatisfying sleep. "Did you bring me here just to be a goddamn maid?!"

"Structure is important," the man said easily before sitting again. "And setting goals and achieving them will give you a feeling of accomplishment. It's good for you, trust me."

"I had structure and goals at my job," Kyle said, trying to keep his voice controlled. It'd been awhile since the collar had snapped at him, and he'd like to keep it that way. "At least there i was being paid to put up with bullshit."

"Yes, but at what cost?" Taking up his pen, the man focused on his sketchpad. "Besides, a clean home leads to a clear head, I've always felt that way."

By the time Kyle was finally finished with the kitchen, he'd spot-cleaned the floor before carefully mopping it, had detailed the sink and counters, and even meticulously cleaned years' worth of build- up in the oven. The room shone like new, pristine to the point of being sanitized, and Kyle was exhausted; too spent to offer up any back talk when the man asked about dinner.

That night, after a quiet meal of chicken and red potatoes, Kyle was practically falling asleep on the couch as he listlessly stared at the wall; the Kit Cat Klock ticking in its alcove. He smelled of bleach and lysol, hands chapped from being plunged into hot water. A sticky film of sweat coated his skin but he was too tired to even ask about being allowed to shower.

The man had built another fire and was reading quietly, the book balanced on his knee. Outside, night had fallen, clear and filled with a riot of stars, while the ocean lapped the shore.

Kyle could only drift, grateful that the man had been right about one thing... his head _was_ much clearer, mainly because he was too fatigued to form coherent thoughts.

"You could watch something if you liked," the man suggested, pulling Kyle's sluggish focus from the firelight flickering on the wall. He gestured to the TV. "I don't mind."

"Can I just go to bed?" Kyle almost whimpered, reduced to an infantile mess that made him want to weep with cutting, unspoken shame. "I'm so tired."

"Of course you can," the man soothed, setting his book aside and adopting a soft expression. "Why don't you start getting ready and I'll be in, okay?"

"I don't need you to tuck me in," Kyle said, already shakily standing; knees aching from kneeling on hard linoleum for the better portion of the day. "But I know I don't have a choice."

His reflection that night made him think of an apparition, faded at the edges as he brushed his teeth and splashed cold water on his face. Lack of sunlight and hope had rendered him washed-out and wan, face starting to thin and his eyes tunnels leading to the wasteland his brain was becoming. The bruise on his eye was quickly disappearing but his split lip was still a ragged wound; nervously chewed so it refused to heal. The lump on the back of his head throbbed on occasion, filling him with a caustic thirst for retribution.

"He should've killed him," he said, thinking of his Tinder date; hoping he was somewhere suffering too. Shutting off the bathroom light, Kyle slipped into fresh boxers and a long white t-shirt. He glanced at the man's sketch on the bedside table before crawling into bed. He waited.

The man walked in and smiled to see Kyle curled on the bed, holding up another sketch that he propped next to the first one.

"For you," he said playfully. Getting down to business, he began locking the cuffs around Kyle's wrists.

"Do you have to?" Kyle asked, wincing when the metal clicked. "It's so hard to sleep with them on."

"I know, and I hate that it has to be like this, but it's just for now. I promise." Sliding a hand down Kyle's calf, he secured the ankle restraints. "Just until we can trust each other."

Turning his face on the pillow, Kyle didn't even bother to respond to that comment; sure that the man would only refute anything he said with his skewed and twisted logic. Instead, he studied the new sketch; another drawing of himself but this one in profile. It had an immediacy to it, like it had been done quickly. The little umbrella symbol jumped off the page, nestled in the corner.

"You're very talented," Kyle admitted, his voice thick as he slackened; overtaken by lethargy. "Although, I don't really understand why you'd want to draw me... I'm not even remotely interesting."

"Oh?" the man picked up the sketch and gazed at it almost lovingly. "I guess we'll have to part company on that opinion. You're my favorite subject."

"The umbrella," Kyle replied, eyelids heavy, "I've seen it before. I know I have."

"It's my signature," the man said softly, putting the drawing back. He stared at Kyle before reaching out slowly to brush some curls from the boy's forehead; studying his face. "Inspired by you...a long time ago."

"Did you have stars on your ceiling when you were a kid?" Kyle asked, closing his eyes; terrified of the man's nearness and warmth, the way he hovered and looked at him with so much unexplained adoration. It made him feel ripped open and naked.

"Maybe," he said, sounding amused and almost relieved. "Why?"

"I don't know," Kyle sighed, just wanting to escape into sleep. "I just had a feeling. Maybe I'm starting to remember you."

"I hope so," the man murmured, still stroking him. After a moment, Kyle could feel a subtle warmth meeting the skin of his cheek. He cracked an eye to see the man had leaned close, was kissing him softly.

"Please, don't," he managed to say through a tight throat, repulsed and horrified at the man's audacity; this forced attempt at undeserved intimacy.

"I'm sorry, I didn't plan to," the man said, drawing back and covering his eyes. "I told myself i wouldn't force you, but..." he stopped, shaking his head. "Just go to sleep, okay? I'll stay with you for awhile... until you're settled."

\-------

Soon, the days were blending together as Kyle succumbed to his forced routine, being awoken by the alarm every morning at 8 am and waiting to be liberated from his restraints. He'd proceed to bathe at the sink and dress before fixing breakfast, making artless and fumbling attempts that the man received with patience and good humor; dry scrambled eggs, charred bacon, misshapen pancakes.

He'd nibble at his own food, subsisting mainly on coffee as his tasks for the day were outlined for him. He'd finished the kitchen and dining room, but the living room proved to be a space that would take longer than a day to complete. Slowly but surely, he made his way through the cottage, falling into a deeper stupor while breathing life into dull fixtures and shadow-filled corners.

The passage of time and monotonous cleaning was broken only by meals being prepared three times a day, the rising and falling of the sun, and little check marks ticking off the days on the calendar in the kitchen. Soon, a few weeks had passed and the cottage was finally done; the only spaces untouched being the man's bedroom and his padlocked workroom.

"I'll handle those rooms myself," he'd explained, pulling gently on one of Kyle's oily curls. He'd grown much more comfortable about touching his captive whenever he wanted, a fact which filled Kyle with dread. His stomach always seemed unsettled, all of his nerves standing on edge like they were waiting to jump over a steep cliff.

Lunch was usually quick and simple, sandwiches or whatever could be thrown together, but the man expected more at dinnertime. As a result, Kyle meticulously pored over cookbooks, looking for ideas and inspiration. Like breakfast, his early attempts were clumsy but he slowly improved, developing a tenuous confidence over time; conjuring up roasts and pastas, stews and the occasional casserole. At least it gave him something to focus on instead of his relentless misery and loneliness.

Bedtime proved to be an exercise in holding himself as rigid and carefully as possible, after he'd wiped himself down with a washcloth and taken note of the breakdown in his appearance; famished and unclean. Haunted. The man would wrap the chains around him and then linger, sometimes bringing Kyle another sketch. Mostly, he'd lay his head on Kyle's chest until he was sure he was asleep, running his hand through tangled hair before switching off the lamp. Oftentimes, Kyle was only pretending, praying for the man to just leave so he could catch his breath; allowing himself the luxury of tears when he was finally alone.

If the man noticed the perpetual decline in Kyle's spirit, he didn't comment on it, opting instead to go along like everything was normal and healthy. He seemed content with the state of things, though that didn't stop him from brandishing the remote when he felt like Kyle was tiptoeing toward the invisible line in the sand. He was like a strong, undying wind that steadily eroded his prisoner's desire to fight; tenacious and determined to prevail.

That's why Kyle couldn't believe his ears when the man suggested they go outside one sunny day; speaking out of nowhere and almost making Kyle fall over with surprise. He set aside his laptop and gazed out the living room window, where the waves were crashing and falling with their hypnotic violence.

"It'd be nice to get out for awhile, don't you think?" he asked.

Kyle merely blinked, taken aback at what could be construed as wistfulness in the man's tone. "Out?"

"Yes, before the weather turns for good. Winters around here can get pretty nasty."

Looking around, Kyle regarded the four walls surrounding them. It was hard to imagine that outside even existed anymore. Closing the book he'd been reading, he cleared his throat.

"You're actually going to let me leave the house? Really?"

"Just down to the water, not too far," the man replied, standing. "I think you've earned a reward, don't you? After all your hard work?"

Kyle had reason to believe it had more to do with not trying to attack the man lately, but chose not to mention it; not when he was being offered even this small taste of freedom. He even swallowed down a question regarding those texts the man was dangling above his head like a mythical carrot; he had reason to believe they didn't even exist.

"I'd like that," he said, keeping his response subdued though on the inside he was almost bursting with unfettered anticipation.

"Great," the man said, pleased. "Go and get a sweater. It's chilly today."

Kyle almost felt like he was being reborn when he first stepped into the sun-drenched sand, the tiny particles collapsing to cover his feet. He was just thankful that the man had allowed him to go without shoes, so he could soak up every sensation in his bare flesh. The collar still hung heavily around his neck but he was able to almost forget it when he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, welcoming the sun to wash over and warm him; his starving pores sucking it up like so much elixir.

The man had made the patio door safe to pass through while Kyle was getting ready, giving him a gentle nudge when his charge hesitated on the threshold; afraid.

"I disarmed it so you won't be shocked," he'd said, settling a hand on the small of Kyle's back. "Go on, it's okay."

Now he stood back, radiating an almost fatherly indulgence as Kyle moved slowly down the slope of beach, picking his way carefully like he was exploring an alien landscape. The sky was an inverted blue dome above them, cloudless, with the gray-green sea stretching an eternity away; frothing and roaming. The white seabirds cried out into the salty air, wheeling and wafting on chilled zephyrs.

Kyle looked down the beach on either side, hungry for the sight of people or civilization, but he saw neither. All there was for miles was the unbroken sand and swaying sea grasses; punctuated on occasion by a dark tree looming. He was dismayed but unsurprised by this discovery. After all, there was no way the man would've been so cavalier about letting him out if there was any chance of them being interrupted.

"Are you going to put your feet in?" the man asked, coming up beside him. In the sunlight, his hair was richly black, gleaming. "Or do you think it'll be too cold?"

Euphoria broken, Kyle frowned before he wordlessly dropped to the sand and rolled up his pant legs as far as they could go. Slipping away, he ran to the water's edge and stopped, attempting to take in the immensity of the entity before giving it up as a lost cause; the ocean seeming even more monumental after being sequestered for so long.

The first splash of water on his naked foot left him breathless, both from the biting cold and the overwhelming beauty of it. The briny scent of it arrested him as he gingerly went deeper, sure that the feeling of the salty sea was like freedom personified; sharp, refreshing, clean. For a moment, he felt himself truly waking up again, like being with the man was more than being locked in a cage... no, he'd been put under a spell, too; asleep, but still able to move.

_I could just keep walking_, he mused, imagining surrendering himself to the sea; not fighting and allowing himself to be pulled farther and farther away. He'd drift for awhile until he gave up the fight, mouth and eyes filling with salt-swirls and effectively freeing him from the nightmare at his back; the horror standing on the shore and watching him with hawk's eyes.

_Why not?_ he asked himself, vaguely aware that the water was past his knees now and rising toward his hips. He was being pulled along by the current but he didn't care, his eyes trained on the horizon._ It would be so easy._

He was waist-deep when he felt hands dragging him back, turning him away from the ocean and hurling him onto the safety of the beach. He looked up to see the man standing over him, face contorted with fury.

"What the fuck were you trying to do?!" he yelled, crouching and gathering up fistfuls of Kyle's hoodie, yanking him close and shaking him. "You could've drowned wandering out that far... couldn't you feel how strong the riptide is? Are you crazy?!"

Going slack, Kyle didn't fight, waiting for the man's fury to dissipate as he dimly turned back to the ocean; angry that yet another chance had slipped through his fingers. He was pulled onto his feet and herded back to the cottage, catching a fleeting glimpse of the understated structure before he was once again locked inside.

"I was trying to do something nice for you," the man was saying as Kyle stood dripping at the window; voice bordering on hysteria while running his hands through his hair over and over. "Why couldn't you just accept it, huh? What do you want from me?"

"You know what I want," Kyle said softly, like he was in a trance. He started to shiver, wet clothes sticking to him and driving the cold deep into his skin.

"Get those clothes off," the man snapped, pulling off his own hoodie and throwing it down. "You were due for a bath anyway but now we have no choice. Not after that ridiculous stunt."

"No," Kyle breathed, trying to back away and hitting the wall. He slid down it, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. "Please, don't make me do that. Don't make me -"

"It can't be helped," the man said, advancing on him. "You can't bathe with your collar on so I have to be with you. You also can't seem to handle any sort of leeway I give you, that much is clear. Let's go."

Finally, Kyle began to cry as the man reached for him, face grim while unzipping the hoodie; he slid it off. Shivering more violently, Kyle held up his arms to ward him off before his cries turned to sobs; nonsensical words breaching his lips as he begged him to stop.

The man sighed and gently took a hold of Kyle's shoulders, shaking him until he settled somewhat. Peering into his face, his expression was pained; apologetic.

"You need to be bathed," he said like he was easing the fears of an irrational child. "I know you've been washing at the sink but it isn't enough, okay? Don't you want to wash your hair? Wouldn't that make you feel better?"

"I don't want you to look at me," Kyle sobbed, the very idea of being naked with this man terrifying him beyond measure. Even worse was the feeling of being so deeply exposed that he'd never recover; left dirtied and irreparably broken.

Eyes darkening, the man was somber when he heard this, like Kyle had wounded him on a level he couldn't articulate. Without a word, he lifted Kyle from the floor and carried him toward the bedroom. Once in the bathroom, he set him on the toilet and pulled back the shower curtain. He turned on the water, adjusting the temperature after letting the water flow over his hand.

"Get undressed," he said, turning to leave. "I'll be right back."

By the time he returned, Kyle had peeled off his sodden clothes and bunched them up in the hamper; flesh littered with goosebumps as he huddled on the toilet; wrapped in the biggest towel he could find. He'd gone so far as to shut off the light, hiding in the shadows created by the faint sunlight filtering through the window over the shower. Hand pressed to his mouth, he stifled another sob to see the bottles resting in the man's hands.

"We'll make this quick," the man said, pouring something into the water and making it bubble. He arranged the bottles on the rim of the tub. He glanced at Kyle. "Ready?"

Powering down, Kyle nodded before looking away.

"Stand up," he said gently.

Kyle did so, clutching at the towel like a lifeline. The man approached and showed him a key.

"I'm going to take off your collar," he said, slipping the key into the padlock. He didn't turn it, hand tightening on Kyle's arm. "Don't try anything. Do you understand? For once, just fucking listen to me."

"What'll you do if I don't?" Kyle asked, staring at the water as it slowly rose; white bubbles blooming like trapped clouds.

"You can't die on every hill, Kyle. When are you going to learn that?" Deftly, the man unlocked the collar and slid it off; holding it up for Kyle to see.

Having the collar finally lifted was akin to how it had felt to feel the sand and sea after being trapped indoors for so long; momentarily elevating him above the miserable constraints of his circumstances. Too soon, though, Kyle was brought back to reality.

"The towel," the man said, holding out a hand.

Kyle bit the inside of his cheek until the bright metallic blood flowed, washing over his tongue. He didn't move.

"I can do it if you want."

"Don't touch me," Kyle almost yelled, keeping his voice low before he remembered that the collar was gone; resting on the counter and not in a position to torment him. The desire to rebel came and went before he closed his eyes, opened his hands, felt the towel slipping away, and then -

"Good, very good," the man praised, pressing a hand to Kyle's side and urging him toward the tub. "Go on, get in. Let me know if it's too hot so I can adjust the temperature."

Once in the water, Kyle pulled his knees to his chest so he could cover himself as much as possible; still, he could feel the man watching him, every movement, every exposed inch of skin. He tensed, so afraid and uncomfortable that he couldn't even enjoy the velvety warmth of the water; the luxury of simply being allowed to bathe like a normal human being.

"You're so thin," the man commented, filling a container with water and pouring it over Kyle's hair and shoulders. "You aren't eating enough." He clucked his tongue in disapproval.

Kyle started to cry again, that sensation of being soiled and stripped to the bone overtaking him while the man continued to saturate his hair with water that smelled of apples.

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings," the man said, rubbing Kyle's cheek; drifting his thumb through a tear falling. "I'm just concerned. Here, I'll wash your hair. Just relax."

Kyle had had his hair washed by another person before, a brief lover, someone unimportant and quickly forgotten. They'd both been drunk on champagne and Kyle had suggested it, snapping at the guy when he'd been too rough with the curls he both loathed and felt strangely vain about. After that, he'd never asked anyone else to do it again... finding it too personal, something to be kept just for himself. Stan had always seemed very fond of Kyle's most prominent physical attribute, once upon a time, and he couldn't help but feel like his preoccupation stemmed from that long-ago admiration.

The man, however, handled the lovely red strands the way Kyle would, with careful reverence and patience. He worked the shampoo through the wild tangle until it became a rich lather, massaging Kyle's scalp; lulling him into a watery-boned state of reluctant complacency.

"I've always loved your hair," he said, breaking the spell abruptly. "You know, I've never met anyone else that has this exact color... I'm pretty sure you're one of a kind. Sit forward for me." He lay a hand on Kyle's neck, squeezing.

Streams of water washed over him while he rested his cheek on his knees. Swallowing down some fear, he dared to ask a favor.

"Can I finish washing myself? I promise i won't do anything else."

The man sat back on his heels and regarded him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Can I trust you?"

"Just give me a chance," Kyle implored, slowly unfolding himself; the look of unconcealed desire in the man's eyes making the hair rise on the back of his neck.

_The better question is if I can trust you_, he thought, reaching for the washcloth the man had laid out. He fully expected to be grabbed at any moment but the man was still, observing him like he would a particularly interesting play.

Like a carnival attraction, Kyle washed himself, trying to ignore his audience but finding it impossible. His hands passed over secret places while his cheeks burned, relieved at having layers of old sweat and dirt cleared away. Still, the relief was short-lived, as shame quickly took the place of what was being scrubbed clean. By the time he was done, he was exhausted; slumped in the tub as the man emptied the water.

The humiliation continued when he found himself being thoroughly dried, angrily tolerating the man handling him like he was fragile and too foolish to function on his own.

"I'm pleasantly surprised at how well you cooperated," the man said, snapping the collar back on and sliding the padlock to once again dangle between Kyle's collar bones. Stepping back, he hung the towel as Kyle stood before him, naked save for the hateful strip of metal. He covered his privates with his hands, ashamed when the man made no attempt to conceal how he stared; covetous. Ravenous.

"I won't hurt you," he said, taking Kyle's hand and leading him toward the bed; offering him no opportunity to dress. He eased him backward onto the white comforter, Kyle's head cradled in the pillow as he stared up at him with wide eyes; terror-stricken to the point where he was afraid to breathe too deeply. The man, in turn, gazed at him like he was thinking of simply consuming him entirely; a finger drifting down the center of Kyle's abdomen to rest on his pubis, right above -

"No," he said softly, "not yet. When you want it. That's how it should be."

Such a disturbing statement spoken in so calm a voice, as if the words were rational and harbingers of what was to come, was enough to send Kyle back into hysterics; sobbing so hard that he retched; hands pressed to his face as he curled on his side. The fact that he could feel himself breaking as the days wore on furthered his desperate and unrelenting fall into outright insanity. He wasn't fighting the way he should, no, he was capitulating because he knew that his hands were tied. The man had him at every turn, didn't he? And now...

_He'll take what he wants eventually_, his mind screamed in an agonized outcry; reminiscent of a howling animal's final death throe. _And he won't feel guilty because he'll be convinced that you wanted it all along. He can rationalize anything, can't you see?_

He sucked in his breath when he felt arms wrapping around him, drawing him toward the man's unwanted warmth and leanness. He stared sightlessly as a hand strayed down his side, over his hip, and lightly brushed against the area between his legs; moving away quickly. He gasped and pressed his thighs together.

"Shhh, calm down. I already told you I'm not going to hurt you," the man murmured, his breath heating the back of Kyle's neck. "Just let me hold you for awhile... that'll be enough for now, okay? If you'll let me have that, I can keep going."

Crawling into his own head, Kyle's sobs died on his tongue. Midday shadows skittered over the far wall as silence descended on the room; elsewhere, possibly in another world, the ocean roared like a waiting, hungry monster. They lay like that in a place where there was no space and time, the man's hands pressed into Kyle's freshly-washed skin.

Through it all, Kyle's thoughts were gravitating toward murky, out of the way forests of the mind; uncharted but offering up terrible solutions. He was slowly accepting that he probably wouldn't be able to fight his way out of this situation in the traditional sense, but he'd been on the right track when he'd contemplated walking into the ocean until it swallowed him.

It was only a matter of finding the right method and the right time; when the man's back was turned just long enough to afford him an opportunity. Ultimately, he would find his own salvation, even if it meant wandering so far from shore that no one could reach him...in a way, he welcomed this idea; becoming an island that was free to drift, untouched, forever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: suicidal contemplation/attempt - read at your own discretion. 
> 
> i really appreciate everyone's comments on the last chapter. they make me so happy. <3 thank you so much!
> 
> i hope everyone enjoys. :) i apologize in advance if it's terrible, lol. xD
> 
> ENJOY! <3
> 
> ps: i was kind of sad when i wrote this, so if it's more macabre than usual that's probably why. sorry, guys. u_u;

After the incident on the beach and being stripped bare by the man, both from a physical and emotional standpoint, Kyle was secretly amazed (and terrified) by just how easy it was to fall into a warm, mind-numbing apathy as the weeks flowed past; slow at first and then alarmingly quick, like a movie being played at triple speed.

It was subtle, this departure from the potent rage he'd felt at first; happening in stages he was nearly blind to, until he woke up one morning and his first thought wasn't about freedom. No, his first clear thought upon waking was what he would make the man for breakfast. Eggs, maybe? Pancakes? He'd liked the waffles they'd had the other day, hadn't he? Not that Kyle had really eaten very much of his portion.

What did food or sunlight or privacy mean at this point anyway? Or freedom, for that matter? Why did he even want it anymore? He had to figure that he'd already lost his job by this point, not that the man was really offering any updates in that regard. Eventually, Kyle had just stopped asking about it because the answer was always the same:

"You don't need to worry about that."

Not worry, indeed. It would seem that to the man's way of thinking, Kyle need only concern himself with the tiny universe he was forcefully encapsulated in; the everyday affairs of cooking and chores. Now that the house had been scrubbed like a clean slate, Kyle was expected to maintain its meticulous order; such was his lot and purpose.

That, and attending to the man's whims, of course.

Thus, the apathy was born, slow- growing at first until it'd taken over Kyle's brain like a gentle, cloying poison of the senses; rendering him compliant and docile. He had flashes of rebellion and hope on occasion but they were brief and more trouble than they were worth, because what could he do with them other than drive himself mad looking for opportunities at escape that never presented themselves?

"Good morning," the man said, breaking into Kyle's thoughts of breakfast and contemplation. He silenced the alarm clock, its shriek easier to bear than it'd been in the beginning. He began the morning ritual of removing Kyle's restraints and then checking his ankles and wrists for irritation from the rubbing metal. "It seemed like you were deep in thought when I came in... would you like to share anything?"

Like a well-trained dog, Kyle was still as the man tended to him with peroxide and antibiotic cream; changing out his gauze for fresh dressings. His eyes trailed to the man's bicep, where the knife wound was nothing but a pink line now.

"Breakfast," he replied, idly stroking the curve of a freed wrist, "I was thinking of making waffles for you. I thought maybe you'd liked them the last time..."

"I did," he said, playfully running the tip of his finger up Kyle's instep; making his foot twitch. A cold latticework of unease loosened in Kyle's stomach but he didn't pull back. "That reminds me. Make a grocery list so I can order supplies, okay?"

Kyle nodded dully. "We're running low on pretty much everything."

_We._ How could such a small word become so ugly?

"I have another fridge in the garage that I stock, too," the man said, rising from the floor. "That cuts down on how often I have visitors out here."

Kyle rose from the bed, full bladder aching; sticky-skinned and ready to wash off the staleness of slumber. He looked at the man curiously.

"Don't you get lonely being so isolated?"

Slow blinks met his question; a subtle twitch of the lips. Temporarily, Kyle was afraid he'd crossed another invisible line before the man finally managed a slow smile.

"I have you now," he said simply. "I'm never lonely."

"But what about before? Do you have any friends?" In all the time he'd been there, Kyle had never heard the man mention acquaintances; hadn't seen him make or receive a phone call. He never went out.

"I like my solitude," the man said, turning away, "so I can work in peace. So I can think." He peered at Kyle, an eyebrow raised. "What about you? It didn't seem like you had a lot of friends before you came here... not real ones, anyway."

That was true, but it still hurt to have it spoken aloud. Kyle was social, but not in a way that could be considered meaningful; choosing instead to deal with strangers rather than people who might question his way of life. He kept in touch with old friends through Facebook, but that was as far as it went for the most part. He dealt with his family in much the same way, a fact which incensed his mother.

"I'll be out soon," he muttered, sorry for opening this line of discussion in the first place. He should've figured the man would find a way to turn it back on him. "I just need to wash up."

"I'll start the coffee," the man said cheerfully before twiddling a curl at the base of Kyle's nape. "Don't be long."

They existed in a world of routines and schedules these days. After the first bath, the man started bathing Kyle once a week; a setup that was subject to change as his captive became more acclimated, or so he claimed.

"Wouldn't want to overwhelm you," the man had said during the last bathtime Kyle had endured, "after all, I know this isn't your favorite activity, but it's a necessary evil, right?"

Kyle couldn't help but reflect as he went about readying himself for yet another day; scrubbing himself at the sink, brushing his teeth, dressing to suit the man's tastes: jeans and a thin, white T. He'd noticed certain articles of clothing being added and subtracted over time; the man clearly preferring him in lighter colors made of frail fabric.

It was just another way to see him, he supposed. It couldn't be denied that the man gloried in bathing Kyle, finding any excuse to touch him, his skin, his hair... eyes trailing everywhere as Kyle shivered under his hands. Sometimes he'd let Kyle wash himself, but more often he took charge.

The worst part always came after, though; while the cool water was draining and the collar was back in place. The man would dry him and then they'd lie together in the large white bed as mid-afternoon turned into early evening. The man would hold him close, sometimes kissing his cheek, but he never went further than that; not after the first time when his hand had strayed to Kyle's most vulnerable area.

Still, Kyle could feel the tension in his keeper, the way he was fighting to hold back. It terrified him into a state of frozen immobility, merely waiting for the other shoe to drop; the day that the man's hunger devoured his resolve and then -

To consider what could happen was like coming to the edge of a cliff with an endless dropoff; daunting to the point that Kyle couldn't allow himself to consider what waited at the bottom. Small touches would lead to ultimately being invaded, and then he'd truly have nothing left to call his own. Everything would've been taken.

He felt cold gathering in his bones as he walked into the kitchen, the coffee pot full and waiting. The man sat at the table in the sunlight, reading his paper. He looked up when Kyle entered, his expression lighting up considerably.

"You look nice," he said, laying his paper aside. "Do you like that shirt? I was afraid it'd be too big."

"It'll do," Kyle replied, beginning to prepare the man's cup: cream and raw sugar, but only a tablespoon. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man watching, almost like he was entranced. "What do you want with your waffles?"

"Why don't you decide? Surprise me."

Covertly, Kyle glanced at the cabinet where the cleaning products were stored. His heart jumped before it righted itself and common sense took over.

"There's blueberries," he said, setting the mug on the table. "I could mash them up and stir them into the batter."

"Sounds great." The man took a sip of his coffee and smacked his lips before picking up a pencil. He did the crossword puzzle every day; occasionally asking Kyle for assistance. It was just another part of his routine.

Quiet settled over the pair as Kyle prepared breakfast, no longer nearly as intimidated by cooking as he'd been before. Perversely, he almost felt accomplished, not that he'd ever tell the man that, of course.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," the man said as they ate, his fork scraping up sticky syrup. Kyle had fried him an egg as well, lightly sprinkled with salt and pepper from the cheerful cat shakers. He cut into it, the yolk spreading outward.

Nauseated at the yellow seepage, Kyle lay his fork aside; wiped at his mouth with a napkin. He glanced at the man warily, hardly knowing what to expect. Ordinarily, the man would be outlining his chores for the day, but he was conspicuously quiet on the subject.

"I have some work I have to finish today," the man continued, stabbing at the egg. "Normally I would just finish up at night while you were sleeping, but I've fallen behind schedule." He gave Kyle a wry smile, like a secret was being passed between them. "I guess I've been preoccupied lately."

"It would seem that way," Kyle said quietly. Pulling his coffee close, he wrapped his hands around the mug's warmth.

"Anyway, my deadline is in a few days, so I'm down to the wire. That's where you come in, Kyle."

"How so?"

"Well," the man said, sitting forward, "I can't exactly keep an eye on you if I'm in my workroom, can i?"

Kyle shook his head, a finger of dread sliding up his backbone. Where was the man going with all this?

"I mean, I considered just keeping you in your room, either in your restraints or with the door locked, but that seemed cruel. After all, it's not your fault I didn't budget my time very well, right?"

"Can you please just tell me what's going to happen?" Kyle blurted out, the tension in him reaching a fever pitch.

Disapproval passed over the man's face before he relaxed, pushing his plate aside and resting his face in his hands. "I was thinking that you've earned an afternoon to yourself. You can do what you please, within reason, while I work. All I ask is that you don't do anything to disturb me." He raised his eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"What's the catch?" Kyle asked suspiciously.

"No catch," the man smiled fondly. "In fact, I'll even throw in an incentive...hopefully it'll encourage you to behave."

"And what would that be?"

"The texts I told you about," he replied, his tone darkening and becoming shrewd, "what if I let you read them?"

Feeling like he'd been struck, Kyle had to struggle to speak; mouth terribly dry. "You mean they really exist? I thought you were just..."

"Do you think you can handle yourself?" the man asked, ignoring this question. His eyes cooled until they were like chips of granite. "I'd really like to be able to trust you... do you think I enjoy treating you like a child?"

_Yes, I think you get off on it, actually._

"What do the texts say? Can I see them now?" Kyle asked, pushing his chair back; anticipation making him foolish enough to show his genuine, almost painful, excitement.

"Stay where you are," the man snapped, slapping a hand on the table. The suddenness of the action was enough to make Kyle take pause. They stared at each other for a few pregnant seconds before the man, grim-faced, began to speak in a much softer voice. "I haven't read any of your texts, at least not the personal ones. The messages from your assistant are another story." He rolled his eyes. "Give me a little credit, huh?"

Worrying his hands, Kyle nodded; teeth digging into his bottom lip.

"And no, you can't read them now," he added. "They're an incentive, Kyle. If you do what you're supposed to and allow me to get my work done without having to stand over you, I'll let you see them. If not..." he paused, a small muscle twitching in his cheek, "I'll delete them. What's more, I'll block that person's number. Do you understand?"

"Please don't do that," Kyle pleaded, knowing the man meant every word he said. "I'll do what you want, I promise. Just tell me the rules and I'll follow them."

"Good," the man almost sighed, relaxing back into his chair; the very picture of contentment. He picked up his fork and prepared to resume eating. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

For the first time since Kyle's entrapment began, the man unlocked his workroom right after breakfast was finished and the last dish was washed. Kyle stood watching, his hands behind his back, one foot thumping nervously against the floor as a shard of light fell through the parted door and across the carpet.

"This room is off-limits," the man said without looking at him. "You're more than welcome to explore the rest of this house but I never want to catch you in here or my bedroom." He turned, mouth tight. "Understand?"

"What is it you do exactly?" Kyle asked, catching a glimpse of a blue-painted wall before the door obscured his view; unsettling possibilities floating through his head. Bluebeard came to mind, the severed heads of his past wives lining the walls like lurid trophies. He shivered and took a step back.

"I create my own worlds," the man said simply, "niche stuff, mostly."

"Oh, so you're a writer?" Kyle asked, intrigued. He'd always envied people with artistic talents, mainly because they weren't attributes he possessed.

"In a way," the man replied, appearing to become agitated; one fist rhythmically knocking the wall. "You didn't answer me."

"Huh?"

"I asked if you understood that this," he slapped the workroom door, "is not for you. I'm willing to share everything I have but this is mine. I need to know that you're hearing what I'm saying."

"Y-yes, of course," Kyle said, holding up his hands, "it's all yours. I respect that, I swear."

"I'm glad we're on the same page," the man said, his demeanor gentling. "Maybe someday I can share this with you but for now... it's just better if this part of my life is separate. Until I can make sure you'll understand." Reaching out, he stroked Kyle's cheek with the back of his hand. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Oh, I don't know," Kyle said softly, shuddering on the inside from the veiled intimacy of such a simple touch. The man's skin was cool; smelled of maple syrup and coffee. "I guess I'll just play it by ear."

"Well, enjoy yourself and remember what we talked about."

Lowering his head, Kyle nodded. He felt a hand resting on his curls, heavy. He held his breath.

"Go, I need to focus," the man murmured. "Which is basically impossible for me when you're around." He tugged gently on Kyle's earlobe. "But you already knew that, I guess."

Finding himself alone and not chained down bordered on being terrifying Kyle quickly discovered, a realization that left him reeling to the point that he had to sit down before his legs gave out.

"How did I change this much without noticing?" he murmured as he gazed out the living room window to the ocean beyond; churning and roiling. The weather was an odd mixture of clouds rolling in and occasional sunshine; an ever-changing dichotomy of hope and burgeoning fear.

Unsure what to do with himself, Kyle stared at the sea and tried to remember the way it had felt; the way it had wanted to pull him away from the misery he was steeped in. The way he'd wanted to simply give in and let it take him. It had been so cold, almost like the waves were sharpened with salt and cutting into him, waking him up.

White sunlight pooled on the furniture and fixtures of the room, highlighting how it had been recently scrubbed. He stood, wandering into the kitchen where the fridge hummed to itself; the dishwasher monotonously churning away. His hands flexed, unused to being idle. Usually by this point in the day, he'd be mindlessly working on a list of chores until it was time to make lunch.

Tugging at his collar, apprehension bubbled in his stomach. Did the man still expect him to keep to their meal schedule? They hadn't discussed that, but the man had been so adamant about being left alone....

A whine built in the back of his throat; a cornered animal noise.

"I could just ask him," he said, glancing toward the doorway to the hallway beyond. In the living room, the Kit Cat Klock ticked like a faint heartbeat. A sheen of sweat gathered on his brow as he weighed his options.

What if this was a test? Even worse, what if he failed? His hand tightened on the collar as a small tendril of anger uncurled inside of him.

_He's getting into my head_, he thought, staring into space until his surroundings seemed to disappear. _No, he's already there... nesting in my brain, dictating my thoughts. It's like I'm disappearing and I'm not fighting it anymore.  
_

"What's the point?" he asked the silent room, sinking down until his face was hidden against his knees. "Why am I even holding on?"

Eyes obscured with tears, he fumbled to reach for the counter before he sunk onto the floor; hand brushing against the man's mug from earlier. He usually kept it out in case he wanted coffee with lunch. Before he could stop himself, Kyle slid it toward the counter's edge where it wobbled for a moment.

When it finally fell he watched it shatter in slow-motion, yellow shards of porcelain flying every which way; the crack resounding like a gunshot around the room. With a trembling hand, he reached out to scoop up a particularly jagged piece before he held it up, studying it.

It was nice and sharp, as he'd hoped it would be. Trance-like, he considered the delicate skin on the underside of one arm, where the blue-green veins swam like undulating seaweed; close to the surface of firm, pale flesh. Delicately, he placed the tip of the broken mug to the whiteness and lightly pressed, sucking in a breath to see the shadows gathering in the depressed skin -

"What happened? Are you okay?"

Kyle heard the man's voice before he saw him rounding the corner into the kitchen, frantic as he took in the scene before him. His eyes trailed to Kyle sprawled on the floor before they flitted to the decimated cup; eventually coming to rest on the piece clutched in Kyle's hand. He swallowed before entering slowly, footsteps careful like he'd come upon a particularly skittish animal.

"What are you doing?" he asked lowly.

Dropping his focus, Kyle began gathering the shards into a small pile, thankful that he'd managed to cover up what he'd actually been doing just in time... not that he was absolutely sure of his true intentions. Really, what had he been trying to accomplish?

"I was careless," he said in the most natural way he could manage, continuing to tidy. "I hope it wasn't one of your favorites," he added, tapping one of the pieces and trying to appear coy.

"Use the broom," the man said after a noticeable pause. He sighed. "Here."

Soon enough, the mess had been cleared away and Kyle was once again on his feet, waiting for the man to decide how they'd proceed; fully expecting to either be chastised, punished, or both.

"I'm sorry to leave you alone like this," the man said instead, startling him. Kyle looked up to see that he was being regarded with apologetic eyes. "I'll make it up to you, though. After I'm done today." He thought a moment. "How about we use the firepit tonight? After dinner?"

"Firepit," Kyle repeated faintly, imagining leaping flames burning up the cold air while they huddled next to it. Possibly, quite possibly, actually, the man would put his arm around him and pull him close; would coax Kyle to rest his head on his should for awhile.

"Just relax," he'd say softly while stroking Kyle's hair, lips close to his ear; intimate and hushed. "This is supposed to be nice. Isn't it nice? Did I make you happy?"

The cold from before crept deeper into Kyle's bone marrow as he considered this scenario. On the flipside, he could imagine fishing the shards of china from the trash; of finishing what he'd barely started. Hadn't he already told himself that he'd be willing to take that avenue if the opportunity presented itself?

_There's more than one way to escape, isn't there?_ he mused. _And shouldn't I do it before things go too far? Why wait for the inevitable if I don't have to? He's giving me a chance here._

"Kyle?" the man asked, breaking into his thoughts. He stepped closer, bringing with him the scent of the cologne he liked to wear on occasion. "You seem kind of out of it, baby. Did you need me to get you anything?"

Kyle blanched, groping for something to say that would afford him some distance from the man's concern. This was a new development, pet names, and it made his stomach twist until he thought he'd vomit.

"You worry too much," he said in a bright voice full of false, cheery enthusiasm. "I'm fine, just clumsy. Actually, I was going to be starting lunch before too long...I wasn't sure if you wanted me to bring you something."

Thankfully, the look of vague apprehension faded from the man's face when he heard this. Tucking his hands into his back pockets, he grinned.

"That'd be nice. Gotta keep up my stamina, I guess. When it's ready you can just bring it to the door and knock... I'll come get it." He flicked his eyes away, up toward the ceiling. "I'll have you try it first, of course. Just to be sure."

_What makes you think I'm so concerned with preserving myself, you crazy bastard? I could just poison both of us._

"Naturally," Kyle replied wryly, no longer unsettled about these small, macabre exchanges. They were just a part of his new life.

"What about tonight? Did you like my idea?"

"Very much," Kyle said, "if that's what you'd like to do."

"It'd be good for a change. Believe me, I don't like keeping you trapped inside, but if I can trust you not to get into trouble this afternoon, then..." he shrugged boyishly. "Why not? Maybe it'll show we've finally turned a corner. It could lead to other rewards."

"Like reading my texts," Kyle suggested, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Exactly, I haven't forgotten." He laughed, showing white teeth; that crooked incisor that stirred something deep in Kyle's memories. "Maybe I'll even let you answer."

"What?" Kyle asked, sure he'd misheard, or worse; the man was fucking with him just because he could. "Do you mean that? Really?"

"I'd have to approve anything you sent but yeah, maybe," he replied. "You'd be amazed just how flexible I can be, Kyle." He glanced at the clock, clearly ready to change the subject; pointedly ignoring Kyle's wide-eyed astonishment. "So, lunch. Have it ready at 2, okay? I don't care what you make... I'm not picky when I'm working. I'm too preoccupied."

"Right, yeah," Kyle said softly, still processing what he'd heard. It couldn't be true, and did it even matter now?

_I could say goodbye to him_, he thought, his heart aching just at the idea, but it felt oddly right. Stan was the only person he really wanted to have any kind of closure with, anyway. _Maybe I wouldn't be able to say it directly, but I could give him something._

But he'd planned on taking care of things as soon as the man was engrossed again, if he waited until that night wouldn't he be sacrificing his only chance? 

"I'll probably have to work tomorrow, too," the man interjected sheepishly. "I had more to finish up than I thought. Hope you don't mind being alone two days in a row."

All at once, Kyle truly felt at peace with what needed to be done; convinced that the way this scenario was unfolding was a sign from the universe that he was doing the right thing. He was so relieved and grateful that the decision was being gift wrapped for him that he did something he'd never even conceived of before. Reaching out, he touched the man of his own accord, pulling gently on the bottom of his t-shirt.

"I'll be fine," he said, smiling a genuine smile for the first time in ages; even before he'd been hidden away. "You don't need to worry about me."

The afternoon waned peacefully after this exchange; the sun finally overtaking the clouds and burning them away. After making lunch (egg salad on wheat), Kyle was once again left to his own devices, the hours stretching before him that he wasn't sure how to fill. His life had become so regimented that idle time was becoming a foreign, unwelcome concept.

At first, he tried watching TV, but that lost its appeal quickly. It proved to be just a reminder of the world streaming by without him... the sound of other voices and conversations compounding his terrible loneliness. True, he'd been lonely before being captured, but that had at least been bearable; able to survive on superficial interactions he could control.

Agitated, he found himself wandering the cottage, searching corners and walls for any sort of weakness he could exploit to his advantage. It was soon discovered that this was futile (as he'd already known it would be); every door (even the patio now) locked and chained, the windows reinforced just like the man had said. For all intents and purposes, the house he was standing in was a veritable fortress.

Through it all, he fought the creeping, awful realization that he couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering back to the man who'd taken him. What was he really doing? What was his work, exactly? How long would he be occupied?

Standing at the end of the hallway, Kyle stared at the slightly ajar workroom door and berated himself; it was only idle curiosity that drove his thoughts, nothing more, he told himself sternly. After all, what else was there to focus on?

After his other options had been exhausted, Kyle sat at the kitchen table and wrote out a meticulously detailed shopping list, though he had no idea why he even bothered. It wasn't like he was going to use anything he was writing down. As he worked, he considered how he would ultimately decide his own end, stopping every few moments to study his arms again. How much force was needed to really sever a vein, and how long did it take to bleed out?

_Do you feel warm, or cold?_ he thought, tapping his pen on his pad; eyes trailing to the calendar; golden swirls of letters announcing January's presence. _Do you just pass out eventually? You have to, right? Don't people go into shock?_

It wasn't the first time he'd mulled over this subject, though in the past it had been in passing. There'd always been a distraction to take him away from the pain he nursed; pills, alcohol, emotionless, meaningless sex with a near-stranger. In a strange way, there had also been a tenuous hope; that things would improve someday if he just waited long enough.

He tried to imagine what his life would be like if he simply stayed and succumbed to the man's whims. It wouldn't always be like this, would it? He'd eventually have to loosen up, especially if Kyle behaved, maybe even removing the collar... or even trusting him to go outside alone. He could sit on the beach and watch the sun set; bloodying the water, while the man stood on the patio behind him -

His pen tore across the paper when his thoughts took this turn. What was he even thinking? How could he even entertain that outcome? He was falling faster from the light than he'd initially thought, that much was clear. He looked down to see that the jagged line of blue ink was marring a list that had started out sensibly, but had quickly devolved into nonsense. He whimpered before hiding his face in his hands, just praying for the evening to pass quickly... to find the strength to persevere through the terror.

He started dinner much earlier than usual, more as a distraction than anything else. After setting aside his list, he'd searched through the cookbooks until he'd found a dish that was suitably complicated and time-consuming: lasagna with homemade marinara. After turning on some music, one of the CDs the man had gifted him with, he set about chopping tomatoes and rolling out the noodles just so, every layer more precise than the one before it.

He was in the middle of preparing a salad when he felt arms winding about him, just managing to stifle a yelp before being pulled against a warm chest. Gripping the counter, it took all of his resolve to stay put as the man nuzzled the back of his neck softly.

"It smelled so good I had to come see," he said against Kyle's skin; breath hot. "I love walking into the kitchen and seeing you here... it's like being in a real home. Don't you think?"

"It beats eating leftovers at the kitchen sink," Kyle replied, taking up the flimsy plastic knife again and slicing into an onion. He cleared his throat, very aware of his pulse buzzing; frantic like a trapped butterfly. "Are you almost done?"

"Just about. For today, anyway. Did you want me to set the table?"

Kyle shrugged, not used to the man offering.

"I'm fine either way."

The man laughed softly and tugged at Kyle's collar before letting him go. "It's only fair."

They listened to music while they ate, both subdued and thoughtful. The man made sure to praise Kyle's cooking, as always, asking for seconds.

"I'm worried about you, though," he commented, gesturing to Kyle's nearly-full plate. "You should really start taking multivitamins. You don't eat enough."

Kyle had to laugh at this, brushing a curl from his eyes. His hair was becoming unruly as time passed.

"You're probably the most considerate kidnapper that's ever lived," he said, giving the man a wry look. "To a certain extent, I mean."

"I didn't bring you here to torture you," the man muttered, swiping sauce from the corner of his mouth. "Regardless of how it seems."

"I'm sure your intentions are nothing if not noble," Kyle replied, preparing to clear away their plates. "Did you want dessert? There's that cheesecake in the fridge."

"Sure, we can eat it outside. I'll get everything ready while you clean up," the man sighed, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation, it would seem. "I even have a little surprise for you."

Kyle's stomach clenched but he kept his words and face passive; busily tending to the dishes stacked in the sink.

"That's nice."

The surprise turned out to be a bottle of dessert wine; ice wine, to be exact, in a pretty blue bottle. Automatically suspicious, Kyle watched the man rotate it in the light of the fire's flames.

"I thought you were anti-alcohol," he said, already intoxicated by the feeling of having night air on his skin again; the multitude of dark skies filled to the brim with stars above them. The moon, silver and full, drifted over the water like a vessel of light.

"I'm against drinking to excess," the man said, removing the cork and setting it aside. He filled two glasses and offered one to Kyle, who could only stare at it, sure that he was being baited. "I don't have an issue with indulging every once in a while. Everything in moderation, right?"

"Why do I feel like you're going to punish me if I take that?" Kyle asked, drawing into himself; wrapped up in one of the man's oversized hoodies.

The man's face fell. "This isn't a test, Kyle. I just thought you might like a change of pace."

"This isn't the change of pace I'm really interested in, but I think you already know that," Kyle replied, reluctantly taking the glass but not drinking from it. He plucked up a strawberry from his cheesecake and placed it on his tongue, pleased to see the man's tranquil expression disintegrate.

They sat quietly then, the sounds of the sea and popping fire winding together and creating a song that Kyle could see himself falling asleep to. The man sipped his wine slowly, sitting in a deck chair with his legs crossed; dark hair glowing orange. Kyle was curled up on a loveseat adjacent, a little bowl of cheesecake resting on his thigh. From an outsider's perspective, he was certain they resembled a couple just enjoying a quiet moment together, if the observer ignored Kyle's collar and the small remote resting on a side table close to the man.

"How was your day?" the man asked quietly before feeding another piece of kindling into the pit. "Were you able to relax a little?"

Kyle almost snorted, but he stifled it. Would the man consider suicidal contemplation relaxing? He doubted it.

"More or less. I wrote out a shopping list."

"Yeah?"

"Watched some TV, but I didn't find anything interesting. I was distracted."

"Oh?" tipping his head back, the man drained his glass. "By what?"

_My crippling despair and loneliness, what else?_

"The quiet," he said instead, starting to feel on edge. Nervously, he picked up his glass of wine and held it in front of the fire's light; it glowed like a sunset in his hand. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about the texts the man was withholding, but he was suddenly shy about broaching the subject. Taking a drink, he almost sighed as the familiar, comforting warmth flooded his mouth.

"Would it be weird if I said I missed you?" the man asked, glancing out at the tide slowly rolling in.

Now Kyle did snort, already halfway through his wine. He couldn't help it. "Everything about this situation is weird."

"I suppose so," he sighed, turning to face the fire; shadows smudged under his eyes and in the hollows of his lean face. Once again, Kyle was taken with how handsome this person was; ashamed that he could reluctantly admire his dark attractiveness in any capacity.

He'd reached the bottom of his glass when he saw the man pulling out his phone. Immediately, his heart started pounding uncomfortably fast. He waited, trying to remain as still as possible.

"As promised," the man murmured, holding the article up to the light.

"I thought you might have forgotten," Kyle admitted, fumbling with his glass. "Or you never intended to..."

"If I make you a promise," the man said softly, rising from his place, "I'm going to do everything in my power to keep it. You held up your end of the bargain, didn't you?"

Oddly, Kyle felt himself flushing, but he wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or the earnestness in the man's voice.

"Don't make me regret giving you this chance, though," the man continued, sitting close beside Kyle; so close that their thighs touched. He held out the phone, already unlocked, and Kyle could hardly believe he was seeing it up-close after so long. For a moment, all he could do was stare at it, nearly dazzled; hungrily studying the background picture he'd chosen ages ago: the Painted Desert at sunrise.

As soon as it was back in his hands, Kyle wasn't even sure how to proceed. His palms sweating, he traced the screen with his finger, momentarily wondering if he could dial 911 before the man could react. He glanced at the side table and saw that the remote was gone before the man shifted, turning over his hand so Kyle could see it resting in his palm.

_Naturally_, he thought, teeth digging into his tongue.

"I bet that feels pretty surreal," the man said wryly, pouring himself more wine. "People are so attached to their phones these days."

"Spare me the social commentary," Kyle replied, annoyed that the excitement he thought he'd feel wasn't really presenting itself. If anything, he just felt lost. "But, yes, you're right. This is weird."

"Makes sense. You've been with me for what, three months? I'm sure you've changed in ways you haven't even realized yet."

"Don't remind me," Kyle muttered, nearly unable to comprehend that so much time had passed already, dissolving into the ether where it could never be retrieved.

Thigh jiggling from nerves, he threw caution to the wind as his finger hovered over the text icon.

"Can I have more wine? This is harder than I thought it'd be."

He waited, sure that the man would refuse, but soon enough his glass was filled.

"That's it," the man said, replacing the cork. "I'm not trying to get you drunk."

Knocking back half the glass, Kyle rolled his eyes. Choosing not to comment, he bit the bullet and opened his messages; alcohol's warm current flowing through him. He felt some of the tension fade from his shoulders, but only slightly.

Scrolling through, he was unsurprised to see texts from his assistant, random hook-ups, his mom, Ike, and -

"Stan," he said, the name alone enough to make his stomach fill with a painful yearning; shot through with such a potent tenderness that he had to catch his breath.

"Yes, him," the man spoke, sounding like he'd just gotten done sucking on a lemon.

"And you didn't read anything he sent?"

"I told you I didn't, didn't i?" Leaning forward, the man stabbed at the fire with a length of wood. It crackled, sending a shower of sparks into the chilled air.

Sensing the man's agitation, Kyle withdrew. Instead, he slowly began reading stan's texts, his heart and stomach twisting up like knotted ribbons as he digested each word. They'd been sent over a period of a few weeks, and he could hear Stan's voice in his head as he read them; husky and slightly roughened by cigarette smoke:

_ **Hey, man. It was great seeing you at the reunion... it'd been way too long. I hope we can talk more often, if you want to, of course. No pressure.** _

_ **I also really hope you'll give what we talked about some thought. It would mean so much to us if you said yes...I mean, I know it's a huge thing for us to ask of you, but no one else feels right. Know what I mean?** _

_ **Sorry if I'm bothering you, dude. I just get anxious when you get quiet, which is weird, I know, considering we don't talk that much these days. I just thought... God, I don't know what I thought. I just miss you, and seeing you again reminded me how much I need you in my life.** _

_ **Can you call me soon when you have the chance? I'm worried about you and time is going by so fast. March is almost here, and Wendy is on bedrest because there's been some complications. I just need someone to talk to.** _

_ **... okay, that isn't true. I don't just need "someone", Kyle. I need you. I can admit that. I know you're busy, but... when you find the time, I'll be here.** _

He didn't realize he was crying until a tear fell on the screen, muddling the words that were like knives slicing up his insides. Hand pressed to his mouth, a small sob escaped before he could stop it.

"Everything okay?" the man asked, not looking at him.

"I don't know what I was expecting," Kyle whispered, "i really don't. I just forgot how this could feel, but that doesn't make any sense, does it?"

The man was quiet, seeming to mull over Kyle's vague question, but he truly couldn't articulate himself any better. The pain he felt, that he'd been holding onto for most of his life, seemed to defy the words that were at his disposal.

"I think I understand," the man finally said, sitting back and looking into the sky. "Love can destroy you as easily as it can save you."

Nodding, Kyle cleared the moisture from his cheeks. Memories converged on him, breaking through walls he'd been reinforcing for years. Why hold onto them? He'd be gone soon enough... didn't that make it okay to let go, at least a little?

"I tried not to love him like that," he said, bowing his head and almost forgetting who he was sitting next to; just needing to talk for a moment and knowing he was being heard. "But it was just too hard, because he was everything I thought I needed. I felt safe with him, even when we weren't together. Just the thought of him was enough."

"Did you ever tell him how you felt?" the man asked gently.

"Not in so many words," Kyle replied, shutting his eyes and finding himself back in a long ago forest clearing, next to another fire raging and spilling its intense heat into a sky covered in low-hanging stars. For a moment, he could smell the wood burning, could nearly recall the way stan had felt when they'd held each other close inside that cramped old tent. He could remember surrendering himself without a second thought.

Most of all, he could remember waking up the next morning and believing that things were finally different, until he'd looked into Stan's eyes and had seen the regret in them; mixed with soft pity, but undeniable all the same.

"I'm sorry," the man was saying, his words breaking the memories apart like sea glass and scattering them. "I thought this would make you happy, but I'm terrible at this, aren't I?"

Kyle managed a shaky laugh. "There's just more to this situation than I know how to deal with, so I don't... I've never been able to, honestly. How do you admit that the person you love more than anyone else was never meant to be yours?"

"You don't," the man replied. "You just keep hoping that things will change."

Bedtime that night was different than usual, but in an abstract way. Kyle felt less closed-off, almost pliable, like he was almost allowed to relax. Instead of rushing through washing up and lying down, he lingered at the mirror and stared at himself; all the while thinking of stan's words. He hadn't been expecting declarations of love, not at this stage in the game, but....

What had he expected? Really? Something that would make him feel less alone? Words that would relieve some of the pain from that one night he'd never truly gotten over? He was almost positive those words didn't exist.

He should've known better at the time, and in a way he couldn't help but feel like he and Stan had used each other for entirely different reasons; reaching out for warmth and acceptance and finding it in one another. Kyle had wanted to comfort Stan, but he'd also been comforting himself, hadn't he?

"Feeling okay?"

Looking up, he saw the man leaning against the door frame and watching him. His eyes were red from wood smoke and spirits.

"No, but I will be soon enough," Kyle said, shutting off the water.

Instead of chaining him as soon he lay down, the man allowed Kyle to stretch out on the bed unrestrained. At first it was hard for him to sprawl out, having become accustomed to sleeping in a confined position. He relaxed eventually though, lying on his back and flexing his feet back and forth, relishing in moving as freely as he wanted.

The man grinned before he climbed in beside him, sliding close and exuding the scent of the fire and cold night winds tinged with salt. Kyle watched him from the corner of his eye, one hand clenched in the comforter.

"I'll wait until you fall asleep," the man explained, indicating the chain hanging from the headboard. He lapsed into silence, idly picking at a thread in Kyle's sleep shirt. "Maybe I'll just sleep in here tonight."

This comment, spoken so casually, was enough to make the minute contentment Kyle had gained burst wide open, and he found himself curling back up like a flower closing to the cold. He turned on his side, away from the man, and huddled; the plethora of sketches on the nightstand mocking him.

"What are you hoping to gain from all this?" he asked, closing his eyes. "I need you to tell me. You owe me that much."

"I want us not to be alone anymore, not like before," the man said after a moment, allowing a note of true vulnerability to register in his voice. "Maybe move on with our lives... away from the past. We could create something better."

"Why do you need me in order to do that? It isn't my job to save you or take care of you," Kyle snapped. Savagely, he wished the man would've said something completely depraved, but no, he made it all seem so wholesome, like he truly believed he was saving them both from being swallowed up by their demons. Somehow, it made the whole affair even harder to digest.

"I know that," the man said softly, disarming Kyle further. "I don't know how to let you go, Kyle. I don't think I could even if I tried."

_What if you didn't have a choice?_

"Please, just... don't make me do anything tonight," Kyle said, so deeply ashamed that he was being forced to beg for the final say over his own body that his voice cracked. Sickened, he even tried to appeal to the man's ego. "We had a nice evening, didn't we? Dinner and going outside? I didn't even try to run away."

"I didn't mean I was going to do anything to you," the man said, voice thick. "I just...I wanted to stay. I don't know why, I thought..." he shifted, making the chains dangling clank together. "I won't touch you like that."

"You want to," Kyle whispered.

Heavy silence descended, building until the tension in Kyle's body was unimaginable.

"I'm sorry," the man replied. "I could lie to you and tell you that isn't true, but it wouldn't be right."

"Yeah, because you have such a profound grasp of right and wrong," Kyle said, feeling cornered and vicious. Mouth trembling, he pressed a hand to his lips. "Just chain me up and go. Given my options, I'd rather fall asleep restrained instead of waking up next to you. I don't even want to imagine it."

"That's fine," the man said. He cleared his throat, sounding watery when he spoke again. "It was just an idea, anyway." Pausing, he lay a hand on the curve of Kyle's waist. "You seemed pretty upset tonight. I think I already know the answer, but... did you want to talk about it some more? I don't even need to say anything, you can just let it out if you want."

"I'm tired," Kyle said, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, the heat from the man's unwanted touch bleeding through his shirt. "I just want to sleep so I don't have to think anymore."

"I'll leave soon, then." The man's fingers tightened slightly before he slid them away. "I can get some work done before turning in too."

Sleep eluded him that night, even after the chains were wound around Kyle once more and the man had gone away. He pretended that he had slipped under, but really, he just wanted to hasten the man's departure so he could think in peace. Once alone, he lay staring at the glow in the dark hands of the alarm clock as they ticked away the hours and composed letters in his mind.

After all was said and done, Kyle couldn't bring himself to send a message to Stan while the man was sitting beside him. There was too much to say, and so little time with which to say it. He also couldn't stomach having his words twisted around by the man; ravaged and censored until they lost all meaning. No, he'd decided that he'd write letters to everyone he wanted to say goodbye to, and if the man had even a shred of decency he would find them and make sure they were delivered; it was the least he could do.

When he finally did fall asleep, long into the gray hours that arrived right before dawn, his dreams were terrible and vivid. He could see himself being led around by the man, forced to crawl while being commanded; trails of red sliding down naked, white thighs.

"Stay," the man said, and dream-Kyle obeyed. The man would smile and stroke his face before speaking again:

"Come."

Dream-Kyle would balk and the man would press the button on the remote, sending waves of agony until he complied. He'd crawl, head bowed and knees raw-red, until he was told to stop. Finally, the man came and knelt before him, touched his face and whispered his next command:

"Lie down."

It wasn't until the man was eclipsing him with his own suffocating weight that Kyle tore awake, stifling screams behind his lips as the alarm blared beside him. When the man came to his bedside and readied him for the day, Kyle was so afraid that he couldn't speak; trembling in sweat-soaked linens. He vomited as soon as he was alone, bringing up bile until he was crying into the toilet; soothing himself that soon enough he'd be free.

Breakfast was simple, scrambled eggs and bacon, served by a withdrawn and shaky Kyle who avoided eye contact and only spoke when spoken to. Inevitably, the man commented on how quiet he was being.

"You aren't yourself this morning," he said, reaching out to tip Kyle's head back so he could look into his eyes. He didn't look like he'd slept well either; eyes bloodshot and face haggard. "Are you feeling sick?"

"My stomach hurts," Kyle replied easily, mainly because it was the truth. His middle was churning as the moment of truth drew near. His head was heavy, too; limbs and joints stiff. Every part of his body was besieged with tension and a profound achiness; temples throbbing and a stale sourness coating his mouth.

"I want you to lie down after you've finished your chores," the man said sternly, letting him go. "What do you have to do? Laundry, right?"

"The whites," Kyle said faintly. It was Tuesday, after all; he always washed their white laundry on Tuesday mornings. That included the sheets and Kyle's comforter. The colored clothing and incidentals were done on Wednesday mornings; every week the same and running like clockwork. "Did you leave your things by the washer for me to do?"

"Yes, my basket's there," the man said, finishing off his coffee before rising. "I should be done with my work by mid-afternoon so we can have dinner early. I want you to go to bed at a reasonable hour tonight." He frowned. "You don't think it was the wine, do you?"

"I'm sure it wasn't," he said, gathering their dishes and carrying them to the sink. "I'll bring your lunch around noon, okay?"

"That's fine." The man made a move to leave but he lingered, watching Kyle until he was forced to turn toward him. "Is there anything I can do for you? To help you feel better?"

Kyle shook his head, almost feeling wounded by the concern in the man's eyes; the obvious desire and need to attend to him in his own, all-consuming manner. It was a force that almost felt like it was swallowing him at times; digesting him until the meat was stripped from his bones.

"I'll take a nap," he reassured the man, thinking suddenly of his nightmare and being trapped beneath him. He touched his throat, afraid it would close up from the growing fear. "I'm sure I'll feel fine when I wake up."

The letters to his loved ones took longer to write than he'd anticipated, consuming half of the precious morning hours; the sun sliding like a golden serpent across the white-tiled kitchen floor reminding him to hurry, hurry. Kyle tried to put down his words with care but he found many of his attempts sloppy, wishing he had more time to make everything perfect but knowing he'd have to accept that he'd have to trust the reader to know that he _meant well_. He'd always meant well...even though he'd drifted away from his family and friends, had kept Stan away because it hurt too much to keep him close.

But he was always close, wasn't he? He lived inside of Kyle's heart, curled up like a sweet memory that time and distance couldn't completely tarnish. He was one of the few things in Kyle's life that felt eternal.

This he tried to convey in his long, rambling letter...but mostly he kept writing _I'm sorry_ over and over because he was; more than anything, he was sorry.

Finally, the letters were folded and tucked away into the envelopes he'd found in the junk drawer; kissed softly and left on his nightstand for the man to find after it was too late. He glanced at them once before leaving his room, feeling like they were green bottles set adrift in the ocean that he couldn't be sure would reach their destinations. Still, he hoped for the best, even as he prepared the man's lunch (leftovers from the night before) and left the tray in the hallway next to the workroom door.

Like everything else in his life these days, Kyle had a ritual when he did the laundry. First he sorted everything into neat piles: shirts with shirts and linens with linens. He separated his own things from the man's, checking to see if anything needed to be spot-cleaned. He always did the sheets, comforter, and pillowcases to begin with, bleaching them so they maintained their pure white perfection. He did not deviate from this pattern that day, only stopping to make one tiny detour.

The floor and counters were covered with sunlight as Kyle considered the full bottle of bleach resting in its place under the sink. He stared at it, its white plastic surface and blue label, before turning it slowly to read the warnings on the side:

**DANGER: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN. DO NOT INGEST. HARMFUL IF SWALLOWED.**

Blood buzzing in his ears, he lifted the container and tried to become accustomed to its weight. He also tried to envision what it would taste and feel like on his tongue, how it would probably sear his throat as it slid against the delicate pink tissue. 

_I could still slit my wrists_, he thought as he unscrewed the cap and set it aside. He reached into the cabinet and studied the glasses, arranged in neat rows by his own hand. He tapped the floor with one foot as he considered them each in turn. _But I'm afraid it would take too long. Wouldn't this be faster?_

He'd also thought about overdosing on something, Tylenol perhaps, but the man kept any medications locked up in his own bathroom; hidden away in his bedroom where the door was always bolted shut. Hanging himself had also been on the table, but he didn't have rope and there really wasn't anywhere suitable that would support his weight; the ceiling fan in his room being too high for him to reach, even if he stood on a chair.

Essentially, he'd made his final decision based on what he had at his disposal, and the bleach was the only thing that seemed to make sense. Not that anything really made sense anymore, but still...beggars couldn't be choosers, could they?

The bleach swirled into the cut-glass tumbler he finally decided on, not exactly clear and tinged with a sickening, ghastly yellow. The fumes burned his eyes and nose, caustic and worse than he could've imagined.

"Just be quick," he said, lifting the glass and staring at a far point on the horizon, past the picture window and to the ocean beyond. Maybe if he focused on the pulsing swirls intensely enough he could struggle through the pain he was about to endure.

He nearly dropped the glass when it was halfway to his lips but he stopped himself, grasping at it with both hands, tipping it, and -

The first gush proved to be the cruelest, as he'd feared, because his mouth was virginal to the bleach's taste; defenseless at it brought down its destruction on an unprepared tongue. He gagged immediately, clapping his hand to his mouth when his body tried to reject the substance; tears streaming down his face.

Doggedly, he tried again, taking another drink and whimpering when the fluid slid down the back of his throat, making it feel like he'd swallowed a handful of lit matches that smoldered going down; razor blades tinged with searing salt water that ripped through his heaving chest.

By the third drink he was sobbing hot tears as he slid down the counter, clutching at the glass as convulsions wracked his body and made his hands clumsy and numb; eyes closed while he pressed his forehead against the cabinet. He could taste blood and bile on his tongue where the buds hadn't been stripped bare, shreds of mouth-tissue soft ribbons breaking off and gagging him further.

He continued to cry, moaning incoherently when the agony reached his stomach; blackness filled with stars edging his vision until he thought he was floating somewhere above the real world. He found himself suspended in a place that went against the natural order, sounds running backwards while colors shifted in a kaleidoscope-brilliance he could touch with his fingers. They broke off in his hands, noises and colors alike, while a gentle hum cut through the agony until it was just another sensation; meaningless and nonsensical.

Through clouds of vapor, he became vaguely aware that he was being held aloft by something, and the cold glass was no longer cradled in his hands. Dimly, he could hear shouting and crying but he didn't have the strength to move; head lolling toward his chest before it was yanked up again. Pressure was digging into the sides of his mouth until he opened lips that felt too swollen and thick, and then a river of icy cold liquid was sluicing over his raw, twitching tongue; thick and oddly sweet.

"You have to drink, Kyle," he heard a voice say, clouded with hysteria and unfamiliar sobs. "Come on, baby... just drink it, please? Please please please -"

He coughed and it was like having a wildfire raging through his throat. He moaned again, slackening against a firm surface that held him so tightly he was sure he would meld with it soon. Another stream of liquid filled his mouth before he tried to scream and push it away, all the while hearing that broken pleading voice begging him to drink, to stay, to hold on:

"Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me... I'll tell you everything if you'll just stay, okay? Anything you want to know, I swear to God. Just don't go. I love you...I love you so much!"

Kyle gasped, turning his face to hide in the soft folds of a warm, spice-scented place; sliding into dark waters filled with more glowing stars; white like moon flowers opening in silent gardens. The voice continued to speak, words elongated until they were strings stretched into impossible shapes he could scarcely comprehend; sending him off to a swiftly-approaching oblivion.

"It's Craig," the voice floated around him, igniting and turning over a stone that hadn't been touched or thought of in years; punctuated with another drawn-out, suffering sob. "I wanted you to remember on your own because I couldn't handle the thought of you forgetting me, but it doesn't matter anymore. None of this matters if you go away, okay?"

Everything was breaking apart now as reality disintegrated, though he fought to hold onto that name as he sunk further.

_Craig._

It was the last thing he clung to before he finally let go, disappearing into a blackness that seemed to stretch for an eternity; blessedly quiet as he slipped under for the last time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know what to say about this part except it isn't the end, but we're getting pretty close. i also kept obsessing over it and i'm still not satisfied, but then again i'm never satisfied, so...
> 
> i delved more into craig's backstory, and i'll definitely get to kyle's, but the pacing was such that it just wouldn't make sense this time around. blah.
> 
> ENJOY! <3
> 
> PS: thank you for the comments...they really keep me focused when i think my writing is bullshit, and i honestly can't tell you how much that means to me. i appreciate every single one bc i know you guys don't have to leave them. you're all awesome!

_**It's not simple to say** _   
_ **That most days I don't recognize me** _   
_ **That these shoes and this apron** _   
_ **That place and its patrons** _   
_ **Have taken more than I gave them** _   
_ **It's not easy to know** _   
_ **I'm not anything like I used be, although it's true** _   
_ **I was never attention's sweet center** _   
_ **I still remember that girl** _

_ **\- Sara Bareilles, She Used to Be Mine** _

* * *

He couldn't be sure how long he'd been wandering through the fog. Suddenly, time was meaningless, and the only thing he could grasp onto were the moments of sharp, burning pain; slow-smoldering fires running the length of his body that he didn't always feel completely attached to.

Kyle had become like a vapor, floating through a white void that swirled past like clouds parting. It was chilled, this existence, like standing on a dock during a murky day and watching the sea ripple restlessly under a sky that had been scrubbed clean from endless storms. Drifting, he flitted through snatches of coherence but could never completely find his footing.

There were times when he could hear the low drone of a voice speaking, occasional sobs, and lamplight turning pink and red behind his closed eyelids. Moisture would be laid on the skin of his face and coaxed between his lips, and it would slide down a throat that seemed to always be on the brink of closing; pooling in a chest that was filled with hot stones and what had to be blades wrapped in silk.

Mostly, he existed in a plane that hovered between reality and dreams, sleep and the waking world; night and day. He was both a ghost and a body with a pumping heart; his pulse gushing in his ears when the agony reached its zenith, and when it became too much he began to float again. Weightless.

The first thing he could actively remember was opening heavy eyelids and looking at his dark bedroom; smudged blue shadows made blurrier from the sand in his eyes. He hurt terribly but he felt clearer than he had in... well, he couldn't be sure. It wasn't like he'd been in a frame of mind where he could track the passage of time.

The door was wide open and the hallway was dark. The clock on the nightstand ticked, each sound a stone being dropped and piling on itself; seconds and minutes adding up as he lay and tried to come back to himself. He swallowed, whimpering softly when his raw, blood-tinged mouth moved even the smallest amount.

Too weak to move his head, he glanced toward the window and through the parted curtains he could see the white full moon glowing; sending out its slow-spreading aura. Sounds were magnified in the silence; the house settling, water dripping from the bathroom faucet, and -

Slow, easy breaths coming from beside him. He froze, listening. Somehow the darkness and pain became more profound as he became more aware of the reality he'd woken up to.

_Oh, God_, his mind moaned, _please tell me... please just tell me he isn't...._

"I love you," the man's -

(No, Craig. This person, this stranger, this unstoppable force of change and insanity was _Craig._ How had he not realized it sooner? Had he just blocked out the past in its entirety because it was too painful?)

\- voice spoke groggily into a room that suddenly seemed to be devoid of air. It was sad and half-gone with residual weariness; not fully awake. It was naked and utterly honest. "I just love you so much," it continued, and then Kyle felt arms sliding around him and dragging him close; rocking him.

"I love you I love you I love you," Craig almost chanted, pressing his forehead against Kyle's cheek. He exuded a scent that seemed desperate somehow; afraid. "Just stay with me, okay? I'll take care of you, Kyle."

Kyle shut his eyes and willed himself to disappear into the fog again as Craig repeated his strange and terrifying mantra of devotion.

"Here, this'll help," he murmured, pressing something cool and wet against Kyle's brow, dabbing lightly at his sweat-gathered temples. "You're so warm... when you're awake, because I know you'll wake up soon, I can feel it, I'll give you a nice hot bath."

Moisture was touching his lips now, rubbed into the cracks of his arid mouth.

"Why did you do it?" Craig asked, dabbing more of the substance just so; it had a medicinal, minty scent. "I can guess, of course, because you were afraid... you were desperate, but there has to be more. There has to be. Humans, even the most broken ones, want to live, even if they don't have anything... it's the driving force behind our species, isn't it? And you... you aren't the type to just give up. I know you aren't. I've known that for longer than I can remember. You have too much to give."

_I used to_, Kyle thought, already beginning to sink back into an ether of deep and abiding fatigue brought about by fear and pain. _Before you decided to take everything for yourself_.

But was that entirely true? If it were, the decision to do what he did would've (should've) been harder, not that it was necessarily easy. None of this was easy, Craig had made sure of that.

_Just fall asleep_, he pleaded with himself, _sleep until you can deal with all of this. Please_.

Thankfully, the universe seemed to be listening and was feeling generous, because soon enough the abyss had taken him; falling backward into the silence where Craig's words couldn't follow him for a while.

_Why couldn't you just let me die?_

_Why?_

\-------

Kyle dreamed of Tegridy Farms before he was pulled back into the real world, and it was (almost) exactly the way he remembered it... the last time he'd seen it, anyway. As a teenager before he'd left for the coast and decided to stay there.

He traveled the dirt road that rambled beside the outstretched fields, greenish brown and wafting in sun-warmed, fragrant winds; rife with the aromas of earth and a twinge of far-off rainfall. He saw the red barn and the scattering of machinery, and then he saw the farm house with the tidy porch; glistening white, the storm door slamming periodically. It created a hypnotic, rhythmic tick.

Through it all he searched for Stan, wondering if he was out wandering the fields or hiding in his room with his guitar, but he wouldn't appear. He felt him, though; a warm, constant presence that had once been the cornerstone of his existence.

"Kyle?"

A voice sounded far away, carried on the wind as it rushed past, but it wasn't stan's. It was too sad, haunted, almost. It hurt him to hear it, and soon it was all around him, becoming a chant:

"Kyle? Kyle... Kyle... Kyle...kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle...kylekylekylekylekyle -"

The farm broke apart in scatters like something being shredded, and then he was back in the bedroom, Craig sitting beside him; head resting on Kyle's stomach as he repeated his name over and over.

He cleared his throat, his tongue too thick and clumsy to work properly; the action made it feel like fire was blooming deep inside of him. Craig, on the other hand, sat up immediately, his eyes wild but filled with so much euphoria he appeared crazed.

"You're awake," he said, voice crackling. "Oh, my God... Kyle, you're actually, you -"

He broke off and then he was holding Kyle close again, his heat and odor making the invalid visibly cringe. It bordered on being animalistic.

"I'm so happy," he murmured against Kyle's aching chest. "I thought, well...I don't want to say it out loud, but there were some moments there where I didn't think you'd come back." He sighed. "But you did... you're okay. You're gonna be okay, i know it."

"H-how long?" Kyle eked out, tears standing in his eyes from the pain speaking created.

"Oh, off and on for three days," Craig replied, stroking Kyle's arm. "You'd wake up for a little bit and then you'd disappear... talking in your sleep and all. Or trying to, at least."

Kyle merely raised his eyebrows in silent question, not wanting to speak unless he absolutely had to.

"Mostly nonsense," Craig explained, brushing Kyle's hair from his brow. He began pulling away the covers, clearly preparing for something. "Names, sometimes. Things like that. Here, let's get you up... we'll go slow."

Kyle whined softly when Craig gently eased him into a sitting position, dizzy, with dots of color coming to cloud his vision as he panted like an overheated dog.

"Don't worry, we'll put you to rights," Craig said cheerfully. "It'll probably take awhile before you're really better, but I don't mind... I'll take care of you as long as I need to."

Desperately, Kyle pulled on Craig's shirt, pointing to his throat when he'd garnered the man's attention.

"H-hard t-to...c-can't -"

Craig gave him a pitying look, his face more angular than it'd been before; stubble-covered with stark purple shadows under red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. He looked like absolute hell.

"I'd avoid talking if i were you, just until your throat's had a chance to really heal." Standing, he helped Kyle swing his legs over the side of the bed. "What'd you expect, though? Bleach is harsh, Kyle... it's designed to be harsh. Your throat probably feels like it was shredded by a knife, am I right?"

Stubbornly, Kyle just looked down at his lap in silent protest. He shouldn't have to answer any more questions; he was supposed to be dead, goddammit.

Craig chuckled lightly, pulled one of Kyle's curls.

"Stubborn as ever. That's what leads me to believe you'll make a full recovery." Pausing, he knelt down so he was in Kyle's line of vision, becoming noticeably stern. "We need to have a conversation though, don't we? Rather, I need to talk and you need to listen. Not that you have much of a choice right now."

Bristling, Kyle reached for the nightstand and yanked open the drawer, already exhausted from this movement alone. He also noticed that the letters he'd written were gone, but he'd deal with that later. He yanked out a pen and pad of paper, scribbling furiously:

**Why? Why couldn't you just let me go? That's what I wanted**

Craig was nonplussed when he read this, pulling one of Kyle's legs straight to remove his sock.

"You weren't being rational, Kyle. For christ's sake, you voluntarily drank something that people use to clean their bathrooms. Do you really think I was just going to stand by and let you pull a stupid stunt like that?" He pulled off Kyle's other sock and threw it aside. "I didn't bring you here to watch you die. In fact, that's the direct opposite of my intentions."

Kyle wrote again, his hand already shaking and starting to cramp:

**If you cared so fucking much you would've taken me to a hospital**

"I considered it," Craig said, placing his hands on the hem of Kyle's shirt and trying to lift it. Kyle yanked away, an ineffectual attempt, really, but he clamped down harder; locking Kyle in place before giving him a harsh shake. "Stay still. I'm not in the mood for this and you need to be bathed and put in fresh clothes. I would strongly suggest not testing my patience right now, Kyle; not after everything's that happened."

Frozen by his tone, Kyle obeyed, suffering through being stripped until he was sitting naked before Craig, shivering and covering himself with his hands.

"I'll have to change the linens, too," Craig muttered, seemingly to himself. Sighing, he picked Kyle up and carried him to the bathroom, snapping on the light. The sudden brightness made Kyle cringe, involuntarily hiding his face in the man's chest. Craig stroked his back tenderly. "I know, but you'll get used to everything again."

It wasn't until Kyle was in the warm bath that Craig began speaking again, conversational, like there'd never been a break in his train of thought.

"The hospital wouldn't have helped you anymore than I could," he said, running his fingers through Kyle's curls, washing away sweat and working his way through tangles. "It didn't take me long to figure out what you'd done... not that you really tried to hide it. Even the bottle says to make the person drink milk to dilute the chemicals, so that's what I did. Lean your head forward."

Kyle complied, staring at the bubbles drifting through the now-dingy water.

"It was just a matter of acting fast, but you'd just collapsed when I came into the kitchen. Don't ask me what made me want to check on you because I'm not really sure... you'd just seemed off that morning, and I was worried. Turns out I had ample reason to be."

He was stroking Kyle's skin with a damp sponge now, taking his time.

"After I made you drink as much as I could, which was no easy feat I might add, I got you into bed and didn't leave your side... like I said, it was touch and go for awhile there, but you pulled through. Believe me, if things had gotten really dire I would've taken you someplace but that didn't happen, so why worry about it?"

Sitting back, he eased a hand under Kyle's face, lifting it to the light so he could inspect and gently wash it. They regarded each other for several tension-filled moments, Kyle's focus straying to that one crooked incisor; pieces clicking into place inside of his overtaxed, exhausted brain. Braces. Silver braces...a mouth full of them, and Craig as a gangling kid complaining about that tooth in particular.

"Craig," he managed to say, almost like he was sobbing. This time his sadness didn't stem from his own circumstances but rather out of concern for the man sitting beside him. How had he gotten to this point? What happened to him?

Craig stilled at the sound before gentling somewhat, letting out a long breath and leaning his forehead against Kyle's; quiet and appearing at ease for the first time since Kyle came back to reality.

"Yes," he said softly, like a load was lifted from his shoulders just from hearing Kyle say his name, "it's been a long time, hasn't it?"

\-----

The sea was grey ice that day, restless under an equally sterile sky as Kyle gazed out the kitchen window. Craig had dressed him warmly after his bath, swathed in a thick sweater and flannel pants. He sat at the table and drank tea, wrapped in a blanket that he'd pulled over his head like a makeshift hood.

The kitchen had been cleaned thoroughly, leaving behind no sign of what he'd done. Kyle already knew without checking that all of the cleaning products had to be gone which was just as well. He was besieged with a deep shame, partially from the folly of his actions but mostly because he'd failed.

"I put a lot of honey in it," Craig said, coming over with his own mug. He sat, having bathed while Kyle rested in the dim half-light of the quiet bedroom, too tired to really do much else. He appeared refreshed, less exhausted. "I figure we'll just treat this like a severe case of strep... go easy, have you stick to liquids and bland foods for awhile."

Kyle didn't reply, still looking out the window. He wouldn't have spoken even if his throat wasn't aching.

"We'll have to fatten you up after all is said and done, of course," Craig continued. "You'll just disappear entirely otherwise, but one step at a time."

Now Kyle scrawled on his pad, shoved it over:

**Stop calling us "we". We're not a "we". I'm me and you're you. A psycho.**

"Regardless, we'll get past this," Craig continued, giving the words a cursory glance. "Just... just don't do it again, Kyle. I don't know what I would've done if you'd succeeded." He stopped short, smiling now, an eery, lost curve of his lips. "Actually, scratch that...I know exactly what I would've done, but we don't need to talk about that."

Sucking in a breath, Craig's implication wasn't lost on Kyle, but it just made him feel angrier. He yanked the pad back and started writing, pressing so hard the paper began to split:

**Don't put that on me, it isn't fair. Tell me why you're doing this... why did you take me? I haven't seen you in over 15 years! Where have you been?**

"It's simple," Craig said, looking away after reading Kyle's frantic, untidy scrawl. "I love you, Kyle. It's been the one constant force in my life for as long as I can remember. I can't explain it any better than that."

Enraged, Kyle managed to choke out a few words while grasping at the collar. He'd stupidly thought that he'd earned a reprieve from wearing it but that wasn't the case; Craig had snapped it on him as soon as he was dressed.

"This... isn't...," he gasped, pressing his fingers to his taut neck, grimacing, "love. You s-stole me. This is all... for you."

He sagged against his chair, a hectic thrum in his temples. Frustrated, he wanted to knock his tea off the table, break the window, run. He didn't care where he went as long as it was far from this place, but now he was too weak to even consider it.

_And I did it to myself_, he yelled at himself inside his head.

"This is probably an unpopular opinion but fuck it, I'm going to lay it all out there anyway," Craig said. "Love is selfish, Kyle. Yeah, it's great and gives people a reason to get up in the morning, but it's also incredibly self-serving. I'm not going to sit here and try to convince you my intentions were 100% noble because we both know that they weren't, but I did all of this for you too."

Kyle tried to speak again but Craig held up a hand, mouth and jaw tight; eyes hard.

"Just let me talk, okay? You need to hold onto what little strength you have left, and I already know what you're gonna say, anyway. Or at least I can make some pretty educated guesses." He pushed his cup out of the way, settling in. "You're right, we haven't seen each other in a long time, but so what? Time has only made my feelings stronger, and it's also given me a chance to work on myself, until I felt worthy of even considering reconnecting with you."

"God," he added, shaking his head, "I was such a fucking mess when I was a kid. Remember?" He looked up, a hopeful light in his eyes.

Hesitating, Kyle just shrugged. Craig seemed to deflate but he brushed it off.

"I didn't know how to deal with anything going on at home, and my parents were such assholes, selfish and always fucking fighting. My dad was a serial cheater and my mom was a goddamn harpy... they'd throw things and -"

Perking up, Kyle scribbled on his pad; shoved it over:

**I think I might remember that a little... being in your room and it was dark... there were people yelling and I heard something breaking. It sounded like a dish. We were on the floor next to your bed and there were stars on the ceiling. Right?**

Peering at him, Craig became grave, tapping the paper. He nodded.

"We were holding hands. That's the part I remember the most, the way your hand felt." He looked down at the table before taking a shuddering, little breath. "Warm, you know? It made me believe things were going to be okay, and i didn't have to reach for you first, you just..." he trailed off, glancing up at the white ceiling. "Yes, there were stars. I put 'em up there when I was really little, me and my old man. We even tried to make sure they were accurate, getting the constellations just right."

"I used to think I'd be an astronaut," he continued, laughing now, like the very idea was beyond preposterous. "Or a spaceman, whatever, but as you can see, that didn't pan out."

Tentatively, Kyle reached out and took the pad back; flipped to a previous page and pointed to a question he'd written earlier:

**Where have you been?**

Taking up the pencil, he added to the question:

**I've blocked out so much stuff from my childhood, but I do remember you just kind of disappearing. It was weird...I came to school one day and you weren't there. No one could tell me where you went.**

"That's because they didn't know. I didn't want them to know," Craig said. He squeezed Kyle's wrist softly before taking his hand away. "But I'm touched that you noticed my absence... that means a lot. To answer your question, though, my parents sent me away."

"Y-you mentioned that..." Kyle said, taking a drink of tea.

"Please, just..." Craig rubbed his mouth, "it hurts to hear you like that. Don't push yourself. And you're right, I did mention that, didn't I? Yeah, they finally got tired of me and sent me to residential treatment."

Kyle raised his eyebrows, shocked.

"Don't be so surprised, it was right in line with who they are...self-centered, never meant to be parents. They couldn't deal with the fact that I couldn't deal with them and their bullshit so they decided to make me someone else's problem."

"To be fair, I was acting out a lot... punching walls, staying out late, drinking, mouthing off. Just being a stupid kid, but that was the thing...I was a kid, you know? I didn't have any direction and my folks had their heads so far up their asses that they were pretty much worthless. They couldn't agree on shit most of the time, but they saw eye to eye about sending me off."

Restlessly, he stood, going to the fridge and opening it; studying its contents. Kyle watched, hands clasped in his lap and reeling from everything he was hearing. It was all starting to fall into line... the way Craig had been there one day and then gone the next, like he'd simply been plucked from the face of the earth. What didn't make sense was how attached he was to Kyle... he'd been present during an ugly moment, sure, but that didn't constitute the closeness that Craig seemed to think they shared.

"RICA, that was the name of it," Craig muttered, pulling out ingredients to make a sandwich. He glanced at Kyle. "I'll make you some soup. You're hungry, right?"

Kyle shrugged. His appetite wasn't really a concern at the moment. If anything, he felt nauseated, like the bleach was still slow-simmering in his gut and sending its phantom flavor up his trachea. He covered his mouth, counting backward from ten and trying to redirect his thoughts.

"I'll make it anyway," Craig decided, pulling a can of chicken and stars from a cabinet. "We lived in places called cottages, can you believe that? Cottages. Like we were on vacation or something." Working methodically, he began making a sandwich, slapping cheese on white bread. "I was roommates with a kid who was dumped in a trashcan as a baby. Another kid was stabbed by his mom. One night, this crazy fucker rubbed shit all over the bathroom walls."

Kyle made a sound in the back of his throat, horrified.

"Right, it was hell, and I didn't belong there, but I stayed for almost a year; dealing with pills and group therapy and bed checks." He yanked the lid off the soup can and dumped the contents into a bowl, added water, and stuck it in the microwave. "Until I ran off," he added, nonchalantly, like escaping what was essentially a prison was a mere afterthought. "I was out visiting my family for the weekend and I just decided enough is enough, you know? I ran away and I didn't look back."

"Well," he added thoughtfully, "that's not entirely true. I did make one stop before I left." The microwave went off and he retrieved the bowl, sliding a spoon into it before carrying it over along with his sandwich. He settled back down, placing the steaming dish before Kyle who could only stare at it; vapor curling upward and disappearing.

"Eat, even if it's just a little, at least try," he said.

Kyle picked up the spoon.

"I managed to avoid being found until I could see you again," Craig continued, taking a bite, chewing; swallowing. "I waited in the woods near the school until the bell rang. It was raining, I remember, and you came out carrying a red umbrella -"

Kyle sat forward at the word, eyes immediately going to the umbrella tattoo on the man's right wrist.

" - I thought I could say goodbye to you before I left, if you'd just get a little closer, but you waited, and waited, and waited," he frowned, his demeanor clouding and becoming ugly, "I couldn't figure out why you were just waiting by yourself in the rain, until the door opened and it all made sense. The look on your face when you saw him told me everything I needed to know."

Sitting back, Kyle looked back down at his soup, weak sunlight reflecting off the spoon held limply between his fingers. He couldn't recall the day in question but he had a pretty good idea who Craig was referring to. It made him cringe inwardly, knowing that he'd been watched, but to know that someone else had witnessed his pathetic, lovesick -

"He didn't have an umbrella, of course," Craig said bitterly, "he wasn't the type to think ahead, not like you... no, you were always prepared, weren't you? Thoughtful Kyle, mature Kyle, always taking care of everyone around you while neglecting yourself." He softened. "I saw the way you covered him without him even having to ask, letting yourself get drenched and I wanted to scream at you to wake up, to take care of yourself, but I was also imagining what it would be like to be in his position."

"That moment came to represent everything you were to me," he said softly, "safety, acceptance... just love, I guess, and whenever I was in a bad place I'd think about it, and it'd make it easier to endure."

Kyle looked up to see Craig watching him, and he tried to find remnants in his face of the kid he'd been, but all he could see was the cold, terrible present. He just didn't understand, but that didn't stop the compassion from welling inside of him and he hated it. How could he still feel sorrow for this person? Why couldn't he just loath him completely, without strings or pity attached?

"After that I just tried to survive," Craig went on, less whimsically and more matter of fact. "I really didn't have anywhere to go but I couldn't let that stop me. I made it to Denver and lived on the streets for...God, I couldn't even say how long, but it was a blur. I got into heroin and meth, fucked around to pay for it, sold for some people. Mostly I sold myself." He shrugged. "What did it matter at that point? It was my body to give and people were willing to pay, so why not?"

Now Kyle dropped the spoon and pushed the soup away, any pretense of trying to eat obliterated by what he was hearing. Craig was being so bizarrely casual about what amounted to a true life horror story; a child giving up his body and innocence just so he could eat and live.

He's detaching, he's gotta be, he thought, clenching his hands in his lap. Not that I can blame him.

"Eventually I was taken in by a client," Craig said, ignoring Kyle's rejection of the food, "an older man, of course. He wasn't rich but he was well-off, and for whatever reason he took a shine to me... told me he'd always been partial to skinny, dark-haired boys. I didn't care, though...I was just glad to have a place to stay, even if it was usually in his bed." He laughed, the sound like a glass falling on a hard floor and breaking into jagged pieces. "He had a sadistic streak... liked handcuffs and -"

"Stop!" Kyle yelled, his throat throbbing and the collar sending a raw, sizzling current through him. He curled, bending his head toward the table and resting his cheek against the wood until the pain subsided.

Quiet took over, punctuating the ticking clock and the wind shrieking by the window; magnified by the static filling Kyle's head. He was exhausted, eyes nearly being dragged closed.

"You asked, Kyle. I'm just telling you the truth. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Lifting the pencil, Kyle wrote before he gave into the weariness; resting his heavy head on his folded arms. Craig took the pad and glanced at it.

"I'm not surprised you're ready to go back to bed," he said, rising and coming around the table. Reaching under Kyle, he lifted him and carried him toward the bedroom. "Maybe that was too much to drop on you so quickly, huh? You've barely had time to really wake up."

Kyle groaned as he was settled on the bed once more, burrowing under the comforter and drawing his legs to his chest. He wanted to tell Craig that he could've been wide awake and healthy and still would've responded the way he did to what he heard... wouldn't anyone with a shred of a conscience? Instead, he lifted his arms and waited for the cuffs to be snapped in place.

"No, we won't use those this time, I think," Craig said, coming to sit beside him and adjusting the blanket. "I didn't use them while you were out, for obvious reasons, and I guess I got used to it."

_I hope he isn't expecting a prize for not wanting to chain me up_, Kyle thought, his eyes closing slowly. Still, he relished the feeling of being able to tuck a hand under his cheek, of moving his legs and stretching whenever he pleased.

He was starting to drop off when he cracked an eye to see Craig kneeling next to the bed, head nestled on the blanket with his eyes shut. He moved suddenly, shifting a hand under the covers and finding Kyle's; intertwining their fingers together. He smiled contentedly.

Against his better judgment, Kyle allowed this contact, whether from guilt or fear or lethargy he couldn't be sure, but he didn't move away. Rather, he drifted toward sleep while listening to Craig's breaths, long and slow and deepening; the room full of shadows and memories still in the process of unfolding.

\----

As it turned out, Kyle's convalescence took longer than either of them expected, which frustrated Kyle to no end. Craig, on the other hand, gloried in caring for him. Meals were simple and nourishing, especially after Kyle's throat finally began to mend, but his appetite was abysmal.

"You aren't doing yourself any favors," Craig commented one day after looking with disapproval at Kyle's half-eaten lunch. "You realize that, right?"

Kyle, restless and short-tempered, brushed off his concern as easily as anything else these days. He stalked the living room while staring out the window, running nervous hands through his hair. They hadn't revisited their conversation from before yet, even if it always seemed to hover just on the edge of everything, but that hadn't stopped it from opening up a floodgate in Kyle's brain, filling it with unwanted memories.

They'd been partners on a project for a brief period, he and Craig. Something for English, and that's why he'd been at Craig's house when the ugliness erupted between his parents. He could remember the tension that had lingered in his house every time he came over

(A house, not a home. Nothing about that pile of bricks and wood could be considered a home, even teenage Kyle had realized that.)

and finally it had broken, as storms always do, and the torrent of rain had fallen in the form of vicious words and objects being thrown and broken.

(_"You dirty fucking bitch! What gave you the right to call my work, huh? Always have to be checking up on me, you nosy cunt?"_

_"I wouldn't have to do that if you'd stop screwing everything that moves, you miserable cocksucker!_")

China shattering and then the sound of someone being slapped; silence, and then quiet, uneven sobbing. Kyle had looked at Craig who'd been sitting on the floor and rocking himself while staring into space. Without thinking, because he wasn't sure what to think, he'd gone to him and taken his hand, squeezing it.

"It'll be okay," he'd whispered, knowing that the words were flimsy assurances that didn't hold water, but he'd needed to say something.

"Don't tell anyone," Craig had replied in a dead voice. "They're always like this."

They'd sat like that until the sun was all but gone, until the stars faded too; not speaking, but holding onto one another. After that, they'd met at Kyle's house to work on the assignment, Craig appearing puzzled and overwhelmed by Mrs. Broflovski's doting; confusedly accepting invitations to stay for dinner and inquires about needing a ride home. No child was walking alone in the dark from her home, no way, no how.

Craig had been so quiet back then, so it was hard to really know what he was thinking, but Kyle hadn't pried. As concerned as he'd been for Craig, he'd been preoccupied with his own affairs, too. He felt guilty now, thinking about it, but they were kids and kids, teenagers especially, were selfish, weren't they? Inherently so?

This line of thought only infuriated him now, pacing the room like a caged beast, because it wasn't fair. None of this was fair. He'd noticed Craig's sudden absence and had been worried, but once again he hadn't dwelled. He hadn't known how to deal with his situation, but now, hearing about it as an adult, he couldn't help but wonder how he could've helped at the time. Could Craig's agony have been avoided if he'd just extended himself more?

"The past doesn't excuse anything you're doing now," he suddenly said, giving Craig a fierce look. "Yes, it was awful, I can see that, but it isn't a good enough reason."

Craig blinked before laying his pen aside. He'd been sketching while listening to soft piano music before Kyle turned on him.

"I never said it did," he replied. "I only told you all of that because you asked, and I promised I'd tell you the truth. I wasn't trying to gain your sympathy."

"Yeah, right," Kyle muttered, infuriated that he had anyway, regardless of his intentions. "I still don't get how I figure into all of this, though. So I represent some warped ideal for you, you made that clear, but so what? I'm here now and it's pretty obvious the reality doesn't match up with the fantasy, right?"

"You aren't perfect," Craig said simply, "but I already knew that. I never thought you were. You don't watch someone for as long as I did and not learn a few unsavory truths."

"You were always just there, weren't you?" Kyle hissed, hugging himself. "Just out of sight, like this demented shadow."

"As soon as I had the means, I made sure to keep track of you. I had to."

"The means?"

"I came into an inheritance when my grandma passed," Craig said, picking up the pen and idly toying with it. "It gave me a fresh start, but I didn't claim it until I was 18. By then, my parents couldn't do shit to me, and my grandma was smart... she made sure my parents couldn't touch the money she left."

"She basically bankrolled your insanity," Kyle snapped.

Craig's expression became wry, stray shadows playing over his face. "Among other things. My career, for one. I invested in that and that's when things really began to turn around; gave me an outlet."

"You need a therapist that enjoys a challenge."

"What makes you think I haven't seen one?" Craig countered, some of his calm disintegrating. A warning edge was creeping into his words, but Kyle didn't care.

"I fucking wonder why!" he yelled, easing onto the couch; shocks running through his skin. "Fucking thing," he said, voice cracking as he desperately pulled at the collar. "I'm pretty sure any therapist worth a damn would've told you that this was crazy, but I guess you conveniently didn't tell them that you were planning to eventually abduct someone and hold them hostage in your house."

"I saw the umbrellas you left, your signature," he added, "near my condo, my job, in front of my door. It makes my skin crawl to know that you were always so close but I just didn't see you. Why would I? If we'd passed on the street I wouldn't have known you from anyone else. Doesn't that bother you at all?"

"It makes me feel like I'm being crushed," Craig said quietly, "and I know you're saying that to hurt me, which is fine. I understand."

"You don't understand anything." Tears welled in his eyes, hateful and bringing his obvious weakness to the forefront. He scrubbed them away, furious. "Why did you drag me into all of this, Craig? None of this is helping, and now that I know what happened to you... God, I feel terrible about it, okay? I know I shouldn't because of what you've done, but I'm only human! You're fucking manipulating me even if that's not what you're trying to do!"

"Stop, okay?" Craig stood slowly, his hands up. "Working yourself up isn't going to help."

"Right, calm down, just relax, is that it?" Kyle asked, feeling hysterical. Not for the first time, he could feel the walls closing in and suffocating him. Desperately, he yanked up a paperweight from a side table and reared back, preparing to throw it through the window.

"No!" Craig yelled, grabbing Kyle's wrist so hard that he shrieked, dropping the weight and crying out when it shattered at their feet. Horrified, he looked down at the multitude of glass shards and wanted to grab one, wanted to gouge his wrist and slit it open, but Craig would just get in the way again -

"Just tell me the fucking truth," he said, starting to sob and collapsing against Craig's chest, "I've lost everything, haven't I? My job? Whatever my life was before, it's gone, isn't it?"

"That job was hollowing you out," Craig said, sounding grave and holding him close; too close, like they were lovers. "You can do better. Have done better. Focus on that."

"You don't get to decide what matters to me, you son of a bitch," Kyle murmured, trying not to think of the late nights he'd endured cleaning up other people's messes and being passed over for promotions he knew he deserved. "That job wasn't perfect, I admit that, but it was mine. I earned it, I was good at it."

"My condo," he said, pushing away but holding onto Craig's shirt, "it was my home, okay? A place I could go to and shut the door on the world... it kept the bad things out -"

"It kept them in, too," Craig interrupted quietly. "You invited them in."

"Oh, you have an answer for everything, don't you?" Kyle almost laughed, a hysterical mixture of mirth and hopelessness.

"Kyle, you were drugged by a stranger. You would've been raped by him if I hadn't -"

"Don't talk to me about that!" Kyle seethed, becoming ferocious just at the thought. It made him feel unclean, both on the inside and the out, but it was Craig's hypocrisy that truly made him sick. "You've pretty much told me that you'd do the same if given half the chance. Don't fucking deny it."

"I would never do anything like that against your will," Craig said, sounding deeply hurt. "Yes, I'm attracted to you, I think you're beautiful, and -"

"Don't!" Kyle practically screamed, clamping his hands on his ears, blotting out Craig's voice. The collar reacted, but he barely felt it because he was feeling too much. He was saturated. He tried to sink onto the couch but ended up on the floor instead, staring at the carpet, dead-eyed even as he sobbed.

"You're broken, you're so broken," he choked out, but he couldn't be sure if he was talking about himself or Craig. "Your circumstances have warped you, and I just got caught up in your chaos." Looking up, he dropped his hands and stared into Craig's resigned face; open but so strange. In a way it was like looking into his own.

"You're never going to let me go, are you? It doesn't matter that i was willing to kill myself to get away from you, does it?"

Kneeling down, Craig stared at him before he slowly took Kyle's hands, cradling them in his lap.

"So warm," he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment as he seemed to melt into a personal euphoria. This obvious ecstasy immobilized Kyle to the point where he stopped crying, morbidly fascinated but understanding on some

(insane)

level how the touch of one specific person could put everything back in order, or bring everything crashing down.

"There's nothing left for you out there," Craig said, his eyes fluttering open. "They've replaced you at your job; sent an email about it over a week ago. Your assistant took your position, which proves you were just a body to them, not a person."

Kyle bowed his head. What could he say to that? At the end of the day, wasn't everyone just a cog in the corporate machine? Why did he think he was special? Why did this revelation hurt so much, then?

"You've pushed everyone away," Craig continued, his hands tightening on Kyle's, "because they weren't what you wanted. You're still holding onto him to the detriment of everything else... even though it's killing you inside."

"You're doing the same thing," Kyle said in a dull voice. "Aren't you?"

"Yes, but I have you now, and regardless of what you say, there's a chance for us." He paused before speaking gently; the way someone would try to coax a scared child or an injured wild creature. "You'll never have Stan the way you want him. You know this but you haven't accepted it... you're just living on the hope alone. The memory."

"No," Kyle breathed, the brutal nature of the words like knives cutting him; driving deep and finally reaching his core where he'd harbored his most painful, profound yearnings. "Things can change, they can, and then -"

"He's married to wendy, has been for years. You were his best man," Craig said, still in that gentle voice, soft as shadows gathering. The rain that had been falling earlier was turning to sleet and hitting the windows; the room darkened when the clouds shifted to cover the sun.

"Marriages don't always last," Kyle said bitterly, some of the fight and venom fading from him as he was assaulted with the truth. It hit him differently to hear it coming from someone else's mouth instead of his own cruel inner voice. It didn't help that everything Craig was saying was true.

"The world has moved on, Kyle, but we haven't," Craig said. "We're more alike than you want to admit. In a lot of ways, we're almost the same person."

"I can't listen to this. I won't. It isn't true, it isn't true! You're just... twisting things to suit your needs!" He pulled his hands out of Craig's and covered his face, sobbing and feeling so disoriented... almost like he was slipping back into the warm nothingness that followed his suicide attempt; an all-encompassing fugue state.

He felt slack and pliable when he found himself being gathered into Craig's arms and held closely. His familiar, spicy scent clouded his already overtaxed senses and he sagged, looking into the past and far beyond that room.

"I read the letters you left behind," Craig said, running a hand through Kyle's hair. "I would've delivered them because it's what you wanted, but the one you wrote to Stan..."

Kyle just shook his head. No, he wouldn't talk about that. Maybe he'd never talk about it, that night, the fire, the stars watching them, seeing everything.

_"Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop...I promise I won't get mad."_

_"No, i need you, okay? Please."_

_"But you said you -"_

_"Shhh, stan. Don't worry. I'll be fine. I promise. Trust me."_

"Fine, I won't press," Craig was saying, forcing him back to the present, which was just as well... the past was still too jagged to swallow; a mouthful of needles. "I'll let you wait until you're ready, if that ever happens, but... I'm just asking for you to give me a chance. That's all I've ever wanted from you."

"What does it matter now?" Kyle replied in a voice he didn't recognize; the voice of complete and utter resignation. An underwater sound that seemed to sink deeper as Craig pulled him tighter. "Everything's gone."

"That only means that we can start to rebuild," Craig murmured, clearly taking Kyle's quiet defeat as a sign of surrender and acceptance; an invitation of sorts to do as he wished. He sighed, tilting Kyle's head before stroking his cheek, warm breath stealing over tear-stained skin, and then his lips were pressing against Kyle's mouth; threatening to suffocate him.

_So this is what it feels like to completely disappear_, Kyle thought as he closed his eyes, the warmth of Craig's mouth and his touch similar to being pulled under and close to death; the sensation of losing oneself to something much more powerful. A seemingly unstoppable force.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - violence
> 
> Hey, guys! This part was fun to write bc it has more action...I don't really like writing violent stuff as a general rule (if you can believe that, lol), but that's just how things played out. Not a lot of backstory, but that's coming. All things in time but I'm just setting up the pieces here. That's how I view my stories... just setting up the pieces so I can knock them down. ^^;
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY <3
> 
> PS: as always, I'm a fucking broken record, but THANK YOU for the comments and continued support of this story. It thrills me and I'm so grateful. Beyond grateful, really; I can't properly articulate it but is that really a surprise?
> 
> PPS: in light of current events, I truly hope everyone is safe and healthy during these uncertain times. I wish for the best for all of you. <3

**_All your lies so frustrating to hear_ **   
** _In your eyes I can see your fear_ **   
** _Don't be scared to come closer to me_ **   
** _You need to know that you're free_ **

**_Runaway, just come and take me anywhere_ **

** _Far away, you know a place? Let's go there_ **

** _Take away the feeling that I'm all alone_ **

** _That's the day that I will feel like I'm home_ **

** _\- Runaway, Tommy February6_ **

* * *

"I wasn't really sure what you'd like, so I got kind of a variety of things."

Confused, Kyle watched as Craig stacked boxes on the coffee table; multiple ones of various sizes. They'd been trickling in for a few days, but now it seemed he was actually ready to open them. 

"It's funny," Craig chuckled, tearing through the tape with a box cutter, "I looked after you for years, had regular updates from the PI, but I still don't really know what you like to do for fun. Do you even have hobbies?"

"Day drinking," Kyle replied, annoyed. It was with growing unease that he continued to be an audience for another of Craig's tangents. "PI?"

"Yeah, I hired one...I couldn't be around all the time, you know," Craig said flippantly as he tore open the last box. "Even I don't have that kind of free time, Kyle. Unfortunately."

"This just keeps getting better," Kyle muttered, sitting back on the couch and wrapping his arms around his bent legs. "Please tell me you didn't buy a bunch of stuff, because -"

"You're languishing with nothing of substance to do," Craig cut him off, pulling out littler boxes and setting them aside; images of ships and cars on them. "We both know it, so here's some things to occupy your mind when you aren't doing your chores."

"I didn't need hobbies," Kyle snapped, wanting to kick the boxes off the table. "I had my job. I got to talk to people that weren't you. That was more than enough to keep me occupied."

"Everyone needs little distractions from the everyday," Craig replied, ignoring Kyle's retort. It was like he was made of Teflon most of the time; allowing his captive's backtalk to merely slide right off of him. "Like, see," he added, pulling out a large box with a record player on the front. "You can listen to music if you want...I know my CD collection isn't that great, but I bought some records for you... we can get more, of course. Anything you want."

Kyle stared at it for a moment before giving Craig a look, one eyebrow raised incredulously. Craig ignored this petulance as well. 

"There are models for you to do," he said, pointing to the box with a clipper ship on the front, "oh, and I got this spice garden thingy for you to try. You've come so far with your cooking so I thought you might like to start a little garden... we could put it on the windowsill in the kitchen."

Reluctantly, Kyle accepted the packets of seeds that Craig handed to him, reviled by the man's obvious enthusiasm; the clear light of wanting to please him evident in his eyes. It made him feel sick to his stomach. 

"Basil, rosemary, thyme," he murmured, rifling through them, eyes skipping over the puzzles and books and games now littering the floor and table; a veritable shut-in's paradise laid before him. Without warning, a tear rose in his eye that he swiftly swiped away. 

"Hey," Craig said, coming to kneel before him, looking into his face. Reaching up, he stroked Kyle's cheek. "You okay? Are you hurting?"

Craig was overly vigilant regarding Kyle's health after the bleach incident, even though he seemed to be healing well... on the surface, anyway. Kyle still felt listless and tired, had trouble focusing and suffered from vague body aches and occasional pains in his chest. He chalked it all up to depression and hopelessness, but Craig saw it differently. Anything to suit his agenda, it would seem. 

"I need more than this," Kyle whimpered, crumpling the seed bags. "I can't keep staring at the same walls and the same view...I need change, I need people...I can't just listen to my thoughts and your voice. There has to be more to life than this."

"No question," Craig said, cupping Kyle's face with both hands now. "This isn't forever, Kyle. I promise."

"That's what you say, but how can it ever be different? Are you just waiting for me to completely give in? What are you really expecting here?"

"You're warm," Craig said, eyes narrowing. "You better not be getting sick... your system can't take it, not after everything you've been through."

"You mean after I tried to commit _suicide_," Kyle replied, making sure to put as much emphasis on the last word as possible. "Is that what you mean, Craig? So I could get away from you?"

"I'll get the thermometer," Craig decided, standing. Before turning away, he slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew the black remote; expression turning cool. "And don't forget, I still have this. Just because I haven't had to use it for a while doesn't mean I won't. Remember that."

As it came to pass, Kyle took to some of the small pursuits that Craig offered him, mostly from bored desperation but also from genuine interest. It was with his usual dogged tenacity that he attended to the tiny fragrant herbs that flourished slowly in the weak winter sunlight, encouraged by his devotion. 

"They're coming along nicely," Craig commented one day a couple weeks later. He was studying the parade of little pots lined up, sprays of green breaking through the soil. "And the rest of your little garden looks very promising, too."

Oddly shy about the praise, Kyle averted his eyes as he attended to the myriad of succulents and African violets standing at attention beside the herbs. They were relatively easy to care for, required minimal attention, but he still fretted over them. It was almost as if he was living vicariously through their desire to thrive, reaching toward the sun and drinking it in. 

A record was playing softly in the background (Tapestry by Carole King... Kyle had chosen it from the stack because it made him think of his parents) and the kitchen was filled with the scents of dinner cooking; swiss steak being prepared in the new Dutch oven Craig had purchased for him. He'd also bought him a standing mixer and more baking supplies than he knew what to do with. 

"I'm not really a big spender, as a general rule," Craig had said almost apologetically as the boxes and purchases kept rolling in, "but I don't mind if it's for you... especially if it'll help lift your mood."

Kyle, outfitted in new clothing Craig had bought to suit his tastes (he preferred to see Kyle in white), had had to refrain from once again reiterating that freedom would lift his mood significantly. Company would lift his mood; a change of venue, being far away from the forgotten cottage with the lunatic inhabiting it...

But what was the point? Craig was comfortably ensconced in his delusions and assurance that his motivations and actions were right. Kyle knew that fighting against that tide was a fruitless endeavor. Now he was at a loss as to how he should proceed, so he merely drifted along with the absurd insanity he'd been dragged into. 

His days were spent much as they'd been before his attempt at escape and Craig's revelations; chores and waiting out the long hours. The only true differences were the addition of his new "hobbies" and looking at his captor with a strange, evolving mixture of pity, curiosity, and burgeoning hate; now that he knew who he really was.

And with fear, of course... the fear was always there. 

"They're easier to take care of than I thought they'd be," Kyle admitted, putting down his little watering can. "They actually want to live. Fancy that."

Craig frowned at Kyle's weak attempt at gallows humor but brushed it off. In the ensuing lack of conversation, Carole King's distinct voice wove itself seamlessly:

_"And it's too late, baby now, it's too late, though we really did try to make it..."_*

He sighed, looking around the kitchen. "It's cozy in here with the music and dinner cooking. Your garden." He drifted a finger over a velvety violet petal. "I like it. I wish you did, too."

"I'd like it if it were in a different place," Kyle said, going to the stove and lifting the lid off the Dutch oven. Vapor rose, along with the aroma of meat and tomatoes cooking. He stirred the concoction, replaced the lid, and turned toward a bag of potatoes waiting on the counter. "I'll make mashed potatoes to go along with it. That okay?"

"Can I help?" Coming closer, Craig appeared unsure and out of his element. 

"It'd go faster," Kyle replied, not relishing the idea of spending what could be considered "quality time" with his jailer, but morbidly amused at Craig's obvious fear of outright rejection. 

"Well, I'd have to watch you either way," Craig said, retreating from the room; no doubt to grab a knife from wherever he had the sharp implements hidden away; a cache of contraband out of Kyle's immediate reach. He only had access to them under Craig's sharp supervision. 

"Here," he said, coming back with a knife and a peeler, the latter he handed to Kyle. "You peel and I'll chop."

Soon enough, they were lost in a rhythm of preparation, the music still quietly playing as Kyle worked at the sink, Craig beside him. He tried not to focus on the man's oppressive energy and presence but it was hard, always on edge because he simply had to be. It was exhausting, the constant need to be on his guard... it even made it so Craig's smell was stifling; cologne and ink and the wind trapped in his clothes from venturing outside. 

Heavy words rested on Kyle's tongue as the slick potatoes were laid one by one on the cutting board. He wanted to ask aloud why he'd forgotten Craig so profoundly, and why their short time together had had such a significant impact on him but not on Kyle... because he'd shown Craig kindness during a hard time? Was that it? He'd clearly attached a pathologically deep meaning to Kyle, had even said that he represented an ideal; safety, warmth, and love, but how could such deep feelings spring from something so small and fleeting? A moment so temporary, at least that's how Kyle viewed it. 

When the last potato was cut up and plunged into the boiling water, Kyle went to the fridge to retrieve the milk and butter. He stopped, eyes catching on the words scribbled on the back of the envelope once again; he'd read them so many times that he'd stopped paying attention, but they jumped at him in his state of pensive rumination:

_it is very seldom that a person loves anyone they cannot in some way envy_*

Glancing at Craig, he wasn't surprised to see him watching, his heart in his eyes; full and yearning and so weighted, so terrifying, that Kyle could feel the pains rising in his chest. He pressed a hand to his heart, wanting to scream, but there was no one there to hear him... not the way he needed to be heard. 

"It made me think of you," Craig said, approaching. He touched the envelope before laying a hand on Kyle's face, cradling his cheek and stroking a thumb along his jawline. The adoration was still resting in his eyes, deepening, becoming a body of water that threatened to swallow Kyle whole. "Despite what happened back then, how you were treated, you were always kind. You didn't let your circumstances change you... do you know how remarkable that is?"

"That isn't true," Kyle whispered, frozen as Craig held him gently, eyes locked. "You're just seeing what you want to see... nobody stays the same. Everything changes."

"I can still see you waiting in the rain," Craig sighed, leaning forward now, his heat brushing over Kyle's lips; very close, so close that Kyle could see the threads of pigment that made up his gray irises. "I keep wondering how our lives could've been different if you'd been waiting for me instead."

"Craig -"

Lips covered his own before he could speak, immobilizing Kyle; eyes wide though Craig's had slipped shut. That same feeling of drowning and fading away into an abyss engulfed him, rendering him still and shaking when he felt Craig's tongue creep into his mouth. He cried out softly, pushing against his chest, but he was weak and so terribly overwhelmed. 

The screams were trapped inside his head when his knees gave out and he was falling, Craig holding him up and pressing him close; frantic heartbeats converging. Kyle trembled and hated himself for not fighting, for being so broken on the inside that he couldn't protect his husk of a body. Craig had shattered him in so many ways, had made him feel pity for him... it would've been so much easier to fight if it'd been against a faceless, irredeemable monster, but Kyle had been forced to acknowledge that this was a man, a human being. Yes, he was warped and cruelly self- serving, but the world had failed him; had molded him into what he'd become. 

He knew he shouldn't care, that it wasn't an excuse, but he could imagine the boy Craig had been when he looked at him now. Huddling in the cold or selling himself to strangers to survive-

"It's okay," Craig murmured close to Kyle's ear, still holding him so he wouldn't collapse. "It's okay, I've got you."

Hiding his face in Craig's shirt, Kyle could feel the tears rising, suddenly so deeply tired that he could see himself sleeping for a century. He was about to say as much when a commotion came from outside, a metallic clattering that made him seize up in Craig's arms, clutching at him. 

"Be still," Craig said, pulling back and looking in the direction of the sound. It came again, louder this time, and his face changed; suspicion taking the softness from him. He looked at Kyle, his fingers gripping him tighter until he squeaked. "Don't make a sound, do you understand?"

Kyle only nodded, terrified by Craig's demeanor and the unknown suddenly encroaching on their small, strange universe. A small thread of bright elation wound through the fear, though. What if...?

"Something's messing with the trash cans," Craig said, slowly letting Kyle go. "Or the wind knocked them over. That has to be it." He pinned Kyle to the wall with a look, expression severe with warning. "I'm gonna go check. You stay here, and if you try anything -"

"I-I won't," Kyle replied, shakily taking a hold of the counter. 

"Good," Craig said, snatching up the knife from the sink and leaving the kitchen, heading for the front door. 

On kitten feet, Kyle crept to the doorway and watched as Craig pulled the door open, blinking to see sunshine falling across the floor. The smell of the sea wafted to him like forbidden perfume, and without thinking he took a step forward before he stopped himself. Breathless, the feeling of the sharp winter cold reached him as well, clean and chasing some of the fog from his head. 

It wasn't long before Craig was back, grim-faced as he shut the door and locked it. 

"Fucking raccoons," he said, walking past Kyle and back to the sink, laying the knife aside and washing his hands. "Always getting into shit and making a mess."

"So, it was the trash cans?" Kyle asked, deflating. He hadn't really been expecting his deliverance to come so easily, but he couldn't help his disappointment. 

"Yeah, little fuckers are good at prying them open and spreading the trash around. Thankfully, I got out there before they could do much damage." Drying his hands, he shrugged. "I'll just get a container I can lock up to keep the trash in... that should take care of it. I don't get trash removal out here because we're so out of the way so I don't get to the dump that often. That attracts animals."

"It's like we're on another planet," Kyle muttered, rubbing his arms. "Like we aren't even a part of civilization anymore."

"Yeah, and I like it that way," Craig said simply, looking at a spot on the floor. "Hold on, don't move."

"What?" Kyle asked, looking down as well. Alarmed, he saw a large, dark spider skittering across the tiles. 

"Wolf spider," Craig replied, deftly covering the creature with a cup before sliding a piece of paper under it; the action appearing second nature and very practiced. "They like to come in when it's cold." He carried it from the room, the sound of the door opening and closing coming to Kyle after a moment. 

"I can't lie, I probably would've killed it," Kyle said when Craig returned, having never been a fan of spiders. In truth, they made him deeply uncomfortable. 

Craig laughed before tousling Kyle's curls. "He can't help being what he is, anymore than we can...i just don't want him in my house."

"Hmm," Kyle said, thoughtful as he went back to preparing dinner, the potatoes having successfully boiled during the unexpected tumult. Kyle wiped at his mouth, still tasting Craig on his lips and cringing at the flavor; acutely aware that Craig's job was twofold: keeping him in but working overtime at keeping the rest of the world out. 

\-----

The bedroom door was locked at night now. That had been Craig's compromise when he gave up using Kyle's chains. 

"We'll see how this goes," he'd said after tucking Kyle in, not long after his recovery had taken a tentative hold. "Give me a reason to use them again and I will. Okay?"

Kyle, who'd momentarily considered the notion of wandering the cottage after hours, had nodded slowly, watching as Craig had settled into a chair with a book. He was just glad that he'd opted not to climb in beside him. In many ways, the theoretical distance between them had closed, but Craig still seemed oddly respectful of certain lines in the sand, although there was no rhyme or reason to his concessions. He hadn't slept next to Kyle since he'd gotten better. 

"Are you going to read me a bedtime story?" Kyle had asked snarkily, half-expecting Craig to say yes. He seemed to enjoy doing strangely indulgent, fatherly things for him. When Craig declined to respond, Kyle continued, more diplomatically, "why?"

"Because I want to trust you," Craig replied, turning a page of his latest novel; Rose Madder by Stephen King. It was worn, the spine cracked. "That's all I've ever wanted. I want to trust that you won't harm me, but more importantly, I want to trust that you won't hurt yourself again."

He looked up, eyebrows raised. 

"The best way to do that is by giving you your freedoms back, little by little, and seeing what you do with the privilege. As well as your dignity, because that's just as important, don't you think?" Lowering his eyes again, he turned a page. "Is that expecting too much?"

"No," Kyle said, resting a hand under his cheek, sickened by how grateful he was about this small ease of movement. He didn't really feel more dignified, not when his very movement hinged on abiding by Craig's rules. 

"Fine," Craig said, "as long as we understand each other, we're off to a good start. Now close your eyes and try to sleep."

It was during the late-night hours, when Kyle finally found himself alone and unchained, that he realized that something was developing outside. He'd gotten up to use the bathroom and was unable to fall back asleep, having too much on his mind and no outlet to relieve his anxiety, so he was pacing the floor; finally approaching the window to look out. 

The view was the same as always, the ocean stretching away, inky dark waves rolling on top of one another under the silent stars and moon; always moving but never really getting anywhere. They seemed to be trapped in the same stasis that he was, but at least they had a purpose. 

From his vantage point, he could see some of the deck and a great deal of the garage, where the extra fridge and freezer were kept, as well as....

"Huh?" he said before he could stop himself, pressing his hands against the window when he saw movement, the motion sensors also picking up on something and illuminating the yard with their caustic light. 

A shadow, decidedly humanlike, was moving over the dead grass, wavering and elongating. It rounded the corner of the garage before a figure appeared, partially in darkness but undeniable. Kyle sucked in a breath until he almost choked, sure that he was hallucinating, that he was losing his mind... after all, he hadn't seen another person besides Craig for months. This couldn't be real. 

On the heels of his surprise was terror, swiftly budding and flourishing as he watched the figure pick their slow, careful way through the yard. Who wouldn't be afraid of a stranger materializing out of the darkness in the middle of the night? Anyone with an ounce of common sense would have to assume that they were up to no good, but Kyle, hungry for any sign of life, watched voraciously; wanting to hope for the best. 

The figure moved like a watchful deer, stopping every now and then to look around, coming out of the shadows to reveal itself as a young man with scraggly blonde hair and a gaunt face. His clothes were threadbare and ill-fitting, the shoes on his feet held together with duct tape and prayers, it would seem. On his back was a lumpy pack, straining at the seams. 

"A drifter," Kyle said softly. "He has to be, but how the hell did he end up all the way out here? Craig said the nearest town was miles away..."

_He's running away from something_, his mind chided, further igniting his fear. _Maybe he's trying to avoid the police?_

"Or maybe he's like Craig and he's trying to escape a bad situation," Kyle murmured, trying to talk through his paranoia. "He needs help."

Heart thudding, Kyle watched as the drifter made his way to the garbage cans and lifted the lid off one, setting it aside gently in the grass. 

_What do you want to bet it wasn't raccoons that fucked with the garbage the last time?_ he thought. _Those things are nocturnal... they don't usually come out during the day, do they?_

"How am I supposed to know that?" Kyle asked, beginning to feel giddy and unhinged; almost loopy from the possibility this development could afford him. "Next you're gonna ask me if I know whether drifters and transients are nocturnal."

The man was quickly digging through the trash now, setting things aside and tearing apart bags. It was obvious he had no idea he was being watched, and Kyle decided that he didn't care if the guy was an escaped criminal or not, he was a _chance_, and he needed to fucking do something before it was too late. 

"Hey," he choked out, wishing that he could open up and really scream, but the collar wouldn't allow for that. Instead, he lifted his fist to bang on the glass, potent adrenaline coursing through his veins as he drew his fist back -

"Kyle? Are you okay in there?" Craig's voice broke through the quiet and tension like a gunshot, making Kyle cry out against his will, waking up the collar and forcing him to his knees. It'd been so long since he'd felt its affects that they seemed twice as strong, leaving him hunched and writhing on the floor. 

Through the cloud of pain, he could hear the door being unlocked and opening, and then the room was flooded with light. In a haze, Kyle moaned to see the man look up, glance toward the window, and then take flight, back into the darkness beyond where the lights could reach. He almost sobbed, but he pressed a hand against his lips to silence himself. 

"What are you doing on the floor?" Craig asked, kneeling beside him and peering into Kyle's face. He studied him, eyes searching and filled with fatigue and worry. "Kyle, talk to me, baby. Do you feel sick? Were you sleepwalking?"

"Outside," Kyle replied, his gaze flitting from Craig's toward the window, "I heard a noise and I looked out. The raccoons were back and getting into the trash."

"Goddammit," Craig sighed, flicking the curtain back and frowning deeply. "I keep putting off getting that container but now I don't have a choice, I guess. Still," he added, gathering Kyle into his arms so he could help him up, "if it has to be done, so be it."

Pausing, he narrowed his eyes while holding Kyle at arms' length. "You're shaking. Why are you shaking? Is there something you're not telling me, Kyle?"

Mouth dry, Kyle shook his head, but decided that more was needed in this situation to pacify Craig. "I had a bad dream...that's what woke me up in the first place. I didn't want to say anything because..." he looked down, trying to appear docile and compliant, "I just wanted to deal with it on my own, you know?"

Craig relaxed before he smiled, hugging Kyle and patting his back. "You're always so stubborn. Don't you realize you aren't by yourself anymore? You don't have to deal with anything alone if you don't want to. I'm just down the hall... knock on the door when you need me, as loudly as you want, and I'll come to you. Okay?"

He nodded, gnawing on his bottom lip until it throbbed. He just prayed that the drifter hadn't decided to move on, that he'd eventually be back. 

Days passed, and Kyle felt like he lived and died by the limited view he had from the cottage windows. It was exhausting, keeping up the pretense of obeying while simultaneously looking for signs that the stranger hadn't left the area. Every night, he crept out of bed and waited at the window, practically salivating for just a glimpse of the drifter. 

Cold rains passed through midweek which swiftly turned to occasional snow, only compounding his fears that no person could tolerate such conditions for long. He'd just about given up hope when Craig came in one day, shaking snowflakes from his hair and lugging an armful of groceries from the garage. 

"There must be campers in the area," he said, laying out packs of frozen meat and canned goods. "I can smell their fires."

Hiding his excitement, Kyle started putting the food away, making sure Craig couldn't see his face. He knew his expression would give him away. 

"Oh? I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to camp out in this kind of weather."

_Unless they don't have a choice, of course._

"You'd be surprised," Craig replied, coming up behind Kyle and hugging him against his chest, lips settling on his nape. "This area attracts a lot of hardcore types... you know, the ones that want to test their endurance." He sighed contentedly. "But they're far away...I'm not worried. Besides, there's no reason for them to bother us as long as we mind our own business."

Kyle, who'd been quietly enduring Craig's growing desire for physical intimacy, didn't reply, hoping that there was safety in silence. 

The next night, while sitting by the window, Kyle was on the cusp of nodding off when he saw the drifter come creeping out of the woods. The rain and snow had finally abated, the climbing temperatures during the afternoon melting the little that had accumulated, so Kyle wasn't too worried about him leaving footprints behind that Craig could see. 

_The mud_, he groaned inwardly, slow to wake, _what about the mud, though?_

He was also apprehensive about alerting the man to his presence, after having time to give the matter more thought. True, he worried that the interloper was dangerous, possibly on the lam, but on the flipside, he had no reason to trust or help Kyle, did he? No, he had every reason to be skittish...to flee at the first hint of discovery. 

_If only I could get an actual message to him somehow, explaining everything_, Kyle thought, watching as the man tiptoed through the yard; having not yet seen the now padlocked trash container Craig had purchased. Sweat stood out on his forehead and his muscles clenched, knowing that the man was far less likely to come back after seeing that his food supply was essentially cut off. 

He hated that there was no time to formulate a better plan, but it couldn't be helped, mainly because he had no idea when this sort of opportunity would present itself again. With his luck, this could quite possibly be his one and only chance at escape, and even if it wasn't, he couldn't piss it away because he was afraid and overthinking things. 

"Please...please don't run away," he whispered so softly he could barely hear himself, his pulse filling up his ears and creating a dizzying whoosh that made him feel faint. Trembling, he lifted the small flashlight he'd found in a kitchen junk drawer, having squirreled it back to his room tucked in his boxer briefs. He'd been surprised to find it at the time, but upon further reflection, he couldn't see why Craig wouldn't want him to have it. It couldn't possibly aid in an escape....

At least, as a general rule. 

Clutched in his other hand was the sign he'd written in big block letters:

**GET HELP. BEING HELD AGAINST MY WILL. BRING POLICE. **

Overloaded with too much, Kyle nearly whined when he flipped the flashlight on, the tiny bulb a beacon cutting through the night; surprisingly strong. He pointed it directly at the man as he came upon the trash container, kicking at it when he saw that it had replaced the cans. It lit up his face and Kyle could see the way he scowled with frustration, yanking at the lock until he looked up, squinting against the sudden light. 

Nerves buzzing, Kyle licked his lip when he'd garnered the man's attention, quickly cutting the light, waiting a beat, and then snapping it back on. He hoped that if he created a pattern, the man would figure out that he wasn't being driven away but rather signaled to stay...to come closer. 

Like a dog sniffing the air, the man raised his face and looked toward Kyle's window, eyes widening with shock and alarm when their gazes converged. He seemed to freeze and Kyle's heart soared with unbridled hope, making him get to his feet and gesturing wildly, the flashlight blazing in his hand. 

"Help me, please, for the love of God, help me," he mouthed, not realizing for a moment that he was starting to sob, frantically pressing his sign against the window and pointing at it, almost hysterical now. "Please!"

The man was still, staring wide-eyed, while Kyle pleaded with him soundlessly, all but begging him to stay and save him. For a brief, terrible moment, it looked like he was simply going to turn and vanish into the darkness, but miraculously, he not only stayed, but he started to move...not further away, but closer. His footsteps were small and reluctant, but they lessened the distance between him and Kyle, and this was enough to make Kyle sob harder; overjoyed. 

It almost shattered his heart to see how young the drifter really was when he was finally able to get a decent look at him. Kyle could see that he was practically still a boy, almost certain that he was, at most, in his late teens, smooth-skinned and nearly emaciated. He had large eyes and high cheekbones, a small mouth with thin lips. Kyle hurt to see him so afraid, knowing that he was contributing to his misery, but he was so desperate that he could nearly taste it. 

"Help me," he mouthed, shaking the sign until the boy was very close, and then he was shining the flashlight on his collared throat; pulling at the heavy padlock dangling between his collar bones. 

Clearly horrified, the boy stared between the sign, the collar, and Kyle's face before he finally nodded, a light of recognition flaring in his features. Taking a step back, he said something but Kyle couldn't make it out, openly shaking at the relief filling him up until he was sure he'd split in half. The boy held up his hands in what he assumed (or hoped) was a gesture that meant he was going to help, but then the world was lighting up until Kyle winced, shrinking back and nearly dropping the articles he'd been holding. 

All of the lights in the yard seemed to be switched on at once; deck, garage, the ones tripped by motion sensors, flooding the area with their brilliance until it was bright as day. In this sudden whiteness, the boy was completely exposed and Kyle could almost feel his unmitigated terror; bony face a veritable mask of horror. He was really just a child and he looked around wildly, clearly unsure as to what he should do; what was happening so quickly. 

It was when he saw Craig emerging from around the house, from the direction of the porch, that Kyle woke up from his stupefaction and started frantically beating on the window until his hand screamed with pain. 

"Run! You need to fucking run!" he shrieked, sagging but managing to keep his feet even through the searing shocks of the collar. "Go! Now!"

The boy, in his confusion, was slow to respond, both to Kyle's hysterical warnings and Craig's swift approach, but he eventually seemed to understand, backing up with his hands raised when he saw the tall, imposing man advancing on him. He seemed to be pleading and begging, gesturing wildly to the window and then back to himself before turning toward the trash container; a desperate series of movements that Kyle could only watch with such deep dread that he kept screaming, collar reacting and making him finally sink to his knees. 

Craig's face was inscrutable and blank when he stopped short, eyes turning into wastelands as he seemed to regard the boy as a particularly interesting insect, only truly coming to life when Kyle was pointed out, and then a spark erupted in dead, passionless irises. Understanding ignited, and the fury that followed was unlike anything Kyle had ever seen from him before... like he'd stockpiled his anger for just such a moment and was using it all at once. 

When he raised the gun, Kyle gasped and the sound was watery and choked, but the boy's response was so dramatic that he managed to hear it through the seemingly impenetrable windows; a yelp, cut short like a cord being yanked, pathetic but so shrill it cut through Kyle's ears. Fumbling, he turned tail to run but his feet slipped in the mud and his flight was also cut short, sending him sprawling and made to crawl through the filth. 

Craig watched for a moment as the boy floundered before locking eyes with Kyle, and then he was moving with a singular purpose, taking a hold of the boy's shirt like one would grab the scruff of a rebellious puppy, yanking him up onto his knees and then -

"No," Kyle whispered, voice cracking like brittle shells being stepped on. He flattened his hands against the window glass, already slick with mucous, sweat, and tears, his entire being screaming for Craig to be merciful; just this once, be _merciful_. "No, Craig. No no NO!"

The world was static when Kyle's eyes were visited with the red and orange flower blooming from the end of the gun, a sharp and vivid crack splitting the universe as a bullet traveled through bone and meat; finally lodging itself in the soft confines of the boy's skull before escaping through the other side. The wide eyes became larger and unfocused, the mouth slackened, and his demeanor, young and so green, seemed to be full of a bewildered accusation as he stared at Kyle:

"Why? Why did _you_ let this happen to me?"

It was when Craig let the boy fall like a discarded rag doll that Kyle staggered back, rendered so speechless by what he'd just seen that he almost forgot who and where he was. He felt cold, detached from his body, and it took him a moment to realize he'd emptied his bladder on the floor; mindlessly stepping backward until he hit the far wall, and then he was sliding down it. He sat, staring into space, until he heard the doorknob rattling, and then Craig was there, huge and terrible; a monster crystallizing from every nightmare Kyle had ever had and would ever have. 

"This didn't have to happen," he said in such a composed way that Kyle couldn't comprehend him for a few seconds. "All we needed to do was mind our own business and that kid could've stolen the fucking trash cans for all I cared." Stooping down, he was methodical as he drew Kyle up from the floor, tsking when he assessed his current state. "Kyle, baby, you had an accident! You're all wet and..." he sighed, stroked Kyle's thigh, "well, it can't be helped right now. I have other things to clean up, don't I? Come on, you can lie down and then we'll deal with everything else... one thing at a time..."

"You wouldn't even kill a-a spider," Kyle whispered, boneless as Craig hefted him onto the bed, "I saw you... you picked it up and -"

"Hush, that was different and you know it," Craig soothed him while laying him back and picking up the chains, snapping them into place around his wrists. "That kid was chaos, Kyle... sure, he was young, but the trouble he could've created..." he shook his head and touched Kyle's face before clamping his fingers around his chin, forcing him to look up. 

"This is the shit that happens when you invite the world in, I hope you realize that. Those people out there," he gestured toward the windows, eyes vague, "they can't and won't understand what we have here. That boy would still be alive if you'd just get that through your head... it's us," he pointed between them, "against them."

Kyle could only stare at him, mind blown wide from Craig's utter delusion and devotion to it, that it was a moment before he looked down to see the gore saturating his hands; the boy's innocent blood marring the linens, splattering the chains, and being left behind on Kyle's skin. Something in him splintered at the sight and he began to sob until he brought up bile, turning his head to be sick. 

"Shhh, it's going to be alright, I'll take care of this," Craig murmured, clicking the cuffs on Kyle's ankles before gently wiping his mouth, lingering to gaze down at him with so much twisted devotion that Kyle was sure he'd vomit again; choking it back and whimpering softly. Craig kissed his forehead before resting his cheek against him, taking in slow, even breaths. 

"We may have to go away for a little while after I've gotten a better handle on things, but we'll see, okay? As long as we're together we'll be fine... this is just a bump in the road...I promise. I love you just as much as I did before. After all, you didn't know any better, did you?"

He kissed him again, over and over. 

"Just sleep now, baby, and things will be brighter when you wake up. Everything always looks better in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Too Late - Carole King  
* Summer Crossing - Truman Capote


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments on the last chapter! :) I'm tired of being confined so I'm sorry if this part sucks... restlessness makes it hard to concentrate. I hope everyone's okay. <3 
> 
> Enjoy!

He could smell the fire smoldering distantly; acrid, smoky, its scent laced with something sickly sweet. It was like burned sugar laced with gore; an animal corpse baking under an unforgiving summer sun. 

The odor had awoken him from an altogether unsatisfying sleep, punctuated with nightmares filled with red, dripping flowers and wide, questioning eyes. He hadn't merely woken up, no, Kyle had been torn from sleep and hurled back into reality. 

He whimpered when he found himself back in the big white bed with the chains holding him down, shifting to feel the dampness still settled in his clothing; sweat and the shame of losing bladder control. He felt young and old all at once, terrified of real life monsters under the bed and aching from the tension locking up his muscles and bones. 

On the nightstand, the clock ticked its heartbeat rhythm, Craig's sketches littered about at random. He usually gave Kyle a new one every other day... deviating from his likeness to draw things he thought he might enjoy; a seascape, a fox, a castle surrounded by swaths of dense forest. Thoughts of hands covered in blood came to him, holding a pen and meticulously creating those images...

He shifted onto his side and hid his face in the pillow, already drenched from tears and his being ill; sobbing until he was wrung out. 

"His face," he choked out, "he was so afraid and so young and..."

_It's my fault. I didn't pull the trigger but I led him into the trap. I'm just as much to blame as Craig. How am I going to live with this? I don't even have the right to. _

Kyle almost yelled to feel fingers winding through his curls, caressing him. He jerked away and met gray, red-rimmed eyes; Craig kneeling beside the bed and looking at him with raw, undeserved compassion. 

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out again to run a finger down Kyle's cheek, "I'm sorry I was gone for so long. I know you can't be comfortable... did you sleep a little, at least?"

Kyle nodded slowly, afraid to make a hasty movement, not after witnessing what Craig was truly capable of. He hadn't shown any hesitation when he'd blown that kid away; had simply made a decision and acted on it. He could've been perusing his stock options or choosing a movie to watch. It had been too easy, too calm. As bizarre as it was to contemplate, Kyle hadn't thought him capable of murder, even after everything that had happened... how painfully naive could he be?

"The rain's holding off for now, but I'm nearly done," Craig said, beginning to unlock Kyle's wrists and ankles. "And it would honestly be helpful in helping to clean up the mess."

The mess. Oh, how quickly a person could be reduced to a _mess_ that needed to be cleaned off of someone's grass. Kyle shuddered. 

"The ocean will take care of the rest of it," Craig added, helping him sit up slowly. "As soon as the tide comes in... it'll deal with the residue and the bonfire nicely. Carry it away. Come on, let's get you in the bath, huh?"

Frozen, Kyle had to fight not to vomit again as Craig undressed him, peeling away his soiled boxers and tshirt. This time, it wasn't so much his touch but the odor radiating from him; wood smoke, sweat, that horrible, cloying sweetness... it clung to him, ground into his hands and clothes. 

When Kyle was settled in the bath, surrounded by towers of bubbles and staring blankly ahead, Craig started speaking again; adopting his disconcerting habit of talking like there'd never been a break in the conversation. 

"We have a problem, though." Delicately, he laced his fingers in Kyle's hair to wash it, working the shampoo into a lather. "I did some exploring, and that kid was staying in the woods not too far from here. I mean, he was a reasonable distance away, all things considered, but he had a whole campsite set up, tent, firepit, the works. I gutted it, of course, burned his stuff along with the rest of him -"

Moaning, Kyle shuddered and pressed his face into his hands. He tried to arch away from Craig's touch but he kept him still. 

"Hey, relax," Craig murmured, resting a hand on Kyle's nape and squeezing, "upsetting yourself like this won't help. That kid was going to die from exposure, anyway... he wasn't equipped to stay out there for very long, and he was already a bag of bones. It's cruel, but we did him a favor -"

"No! Don't even try to rationalize this like everything else, you son of a bitch!" Kyle yelled, trying to pull away and groaning when Craig's fingers sunk deeper. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the side of the tub, white knuckled. "He was innocent, Craig; completely innocent and he didn't deserve any of that. He should still be alive. End of story."

"He chose his fate when he decided to trespass," Craig replied, rinsing Kyle's hair, his tone unnervingly matter of fact. "And it's not like I enjoyed doing what I did, but this is my home and my property. I have every right to protect what's mine."

"You weren't protecting anything," Kyle hissed, "and if you were, it sure as hell wasn't your home. You were guarding your dirty little secret and you damn well know it. At least be honest with yourself because you aren't fooling me."

"Who drew him in, Kyle? Huh? It definitely wasn't me," Craig replied softly, picking up the washcloth and attending to the rest of Kyle's body. "I told you to mind your own business and you didn't, did you? On some level, you knew you were putting that guy in danger... you just didn't care, because you were thinking about your own needs." Grim-faced, he lifted one of Kyle's arms to wash beneath it. "Not that I can blame you. That's human nature, isn't it? I know that mentality very well."

"Obviously," Kyle muttered, looking down at his reflection with shame. Angrily, he slapped the water, distorting himself. Voice cracking, he spoke faintly, "I just didn't think you were capable of...I had no idea you could," he stopped, lips trembling, "you killed him like it was _nothing_."

Shivering, he hugged himself as Craig poured warm water over his back, leaning forward. A question that had been sitting heavily on his tongue poured out like jagged rocks. 

"You've done that before, haven't you? Murdered someone in cold blood because you felt justified?"

Craig's hand, which had been tracing a lazy circle on Kyle's back, became still. A tension rose from him that was palpable, making Kyle cringe against the side of the tub.

"No," he finally said, leaning to pull the plug so the water could drain. "That was the first time... I've gotten close, honestly. When you live on the streets for a while you have to learn to defend yourself, but no, I've never killed someone before. And I hope I never have to do it again."

"But if push came to shove..." Kyle said, his tone decidedly dull. 

"I'll do what needs to be done," Craig said with casual finality. "Up you go."

Kyle obeyed, dripping naked while Craig dried him with care. It was odd, he couldn't say he was necessarily comfortable being unclothed in Craig's presence, but he didn't really feel the need to cover his nudity anymore. It just didn't seem to matter as much these days; nothing did. 

I'_m numb. I have to be. It's better than feeling everything too deeply, I guess... or at all. _

Craig seemed agitated as he snapped Kyle's collar in place, standing back to study him. 

"You've barely gained any weight since...the incident," he said, stumbling over the word. For whatever reason, he would not, or could not go into detail about Kyle's suicide attempt. He acted like Kyle had dealt with a bout of illness; something completely beyond his control. It was the one thing that seemed to truly make him uncomfortable. "Are you trying to starve yourself? Do I need to force feed you?"

"You can try," Kyle replied, going into the bedroom with Craig trailing him. "I don't have much of an appetite... for anything. Not just food. It just seems like too much effort."

Opening the drawer, he pulled out boxer briefs and a pair of jeans, he slid them on. When he reached for a tshirt, Craig stopped him, still seeming on edge. 

"Not that one," he said, digging through the drawer and withdrawing a woolen sweater with a thick, high collar. "Put that on."

Kyle stared at it, not moving to take the garment. 

"It's too warm in here to wear that. I'd rather wear a shirt." Annoyed, he reached into the drawer, crying out when Craig grabbed his wrist and jerked it away. "Jesus, what are you doing?! You picked out all this stuff... what does it matter what I wear?"

"We have to leave for a while," he said tensely, pushing the sweater into Kyle's hands. "I told you we might have to, didn't I?"

Heart thudding, Kyle clutched the soft wool to his chest, unmoving. Craig went to grab a bag from the closet and began filling it. Throwing the bag on the bed, he pulled something from his pocket and held it up for Kyle to see: a brown, leather wallet; worn, faded... practically falling apart. 

"That kid wasn't just a vagrant," he said, opening the article to show Kyle the inside. "He has family in the police force... if I had to guess from the pictures in here, his father. His student ID is from Princeton. He's gonna be missed eventually, and while I doubt they'll ever figure out he ended up here, I still want to get out of here until the air clears."

Nodding, it all started clicking into place in Kyle's mind. He held up the sweater, studying the collar. He touched the metal looping his throat, the padlock dangling. "You want to cover this up."

"You catch on quick," Craig said, stuffing more clothing into the bag. "Hurry up, I want to leave soon, and I still need to shower and pack."

Still reeling from this development, Kyle was slow to respond, pulling on the sweater and going into the bathroom to watch himself in the mirror as he adjusted the collar. It covered the metal nicely, though there was a telltale bump where the padlock rested against his clavicle. Peering at himself, he had to admit Craig was right - he looked like he was deliberately starving himself; face gaunt, eyes sunken with shadows underneath, a pinched, tight expression. Even his hair had lost some of its vibrant luster; his skin papery. Sighing, he turned away to begin gathering his toiletries. 

When he came back into the room, his stomach turned to see Craig dropping the chains and cuffs into the bag. He didn't comment, coming over with his bathroom supplies in his arms. 

"Thanks," Craig said distractedly, throwing them in the bag and zipping it. He looked up, nodding with approval when he saw that Kyle's neck was sufficiently covered. He smirked, the action bordering on the grotesque. "Why don't you bring me the things you left on the floor over there." He pointed, making Kyle glance over his shoulder and cringing when he saw what he was referring to. 

The flashlight and sign felt like they weighed a million pounds as he handed them over, weirdly ashamed as if he were a chastised, misbehaving child that'd been caught in the act. Craig studied the articles, eyes snapping up to catch Kyle's; cold and direct. 

"I've never wanted to actually hurt you," he murmured, "not once, even when you've frustrated me, but this..." he held up the sign. "It's taking everything in me not to backhand you, and that feeling makes me sick. I hate it."

"Really, that's your line in the sand?" Kyle asked, glancing at Craig's oversized hands, knowing that the pain would be terrible if he actually struck him, and also strangely appalled to hear him say he'd had a feeling of violence toward him; sickened that the notion wounded his sensibilities. "After everything, hitting me is going too far?"

"It's barbaric," Craig said, displaying more of his twisted logic. "The collar is designed to curb your impulses...I don't want to hurt you just for the sake of hurting you. I have no interest in beating you into submission, Kyle."

"No, your methods are more evolved than that, aren't they?" Kyle asked, some of his former petulance filtering into his voice. He sighed before dropping onto the bed, already tired of this discussion. He gestured to the sign. "I saw a chance and I took it. How can you blame me?"

"Easily," Craig said simply, crumpling the paper into a tight, small ball. The flashlight he slipped into the pocket of his jeans. "At least, that's my gut reaction, but on a rational level, and yes, I can be quite rational," he added, giving Kyle a wry smile, "I can't blame you, but here's the thing."

Kneeling down, he placed his hands on Kyle's knees and looked into his face, expression earnest but also undeniably serious. 

"I have you," he said, squeezing Kyle gently, commanding his undivided attention, "and I'm going to keep you, by any means necessary. We can delve into the morality of all this, the justification or whatever, but it won't change the end result. I've never said any of this is right, and I'm not really concerned whether it is or not, because we could argue moral gray areas for the rest of our lives, but -"

He squeezed Kyle tighter, eyes brightening, almost like he was feverish. 

"I've been planning this for the better part of a decade. This is the path I've chosen and I'm going to see it through. Now," he reached up to cup Kyle's cheek, "do you understand what I'm trying to tell you? I need to know you're hearing me, at least a little."

Kyle hung his head, unable to take the look in Craig's eyes a moment longer. In them, he saw words unspoken, probably the ones that were too savage to say, but the implication was there and brutally clear: _I own you. You are mine. I will stop you from leaving however I can, and I'm not above getting my hands bloody to do it. Accept this, Kyle. It'll be easier when you do, and then no one needs to get hurt. Don't test me because you will lose every single time. What I want is stronger than your desire to escape, and that's why I have more power than you - I'm not afraid to give into my baser impulses, but you are, aren't you?_

"I'll take your silence as a yes," Craig murmured, lifting Kyle's hand to kiss the fingertips softly, one by one. "I just wanted to have this little talk before we left to stop you from entertaining foolish ideas."

One last kiss was placed on Kyle's palm before Craig stood, hefting the bag with him. Before he could leave, Kyle grabbed at his shirt to hold him back. 

"His name, the boy," he said, "what was it? Can you at least tell me that?"

"I think it's better that you don't know," Craig said gently, eyes coming back to themselves, less ominous. "I know how you operate, and you'll just use that information to torture yourself with. I said a prayer for him, though, on the beach... and at the very least, he didn't suffer at the end. Most people aren't that lucky."

\-----

"Take whatever you think you'll need," Craig instructed as they stood in the living room. It had finally started to rain, the tension building in the sky until it broke; fat drops splattering the windows and bringing shadows with them. A lamp was lit, pushing the darkness back into the corners of the room. 

Craig had bathed, the stink of the boy's death mostly scrubbed away, but it lingered; trapped in Kyle's nostrils. He couldn't be sure if it was a phantom stench or real. Either way, it was a constant presence, like the boy's spirit was standing in the same room, watching them. Their bags sat in the hallway next to the front door, waiting for their departure. Craig was dressed to travel in a dark blue jacket, jeans, and a black ball cap; all as nondescript as possible. 

"Did you wear that stuff when you were stalking me?" Kyle asked, choosing books from the shelf. His attire was in stark contrast to his counterpart's: light denim jeans, cream-colored sweater; clover green jacket. Craig enjoyed him in light colors that played up his natural coloring. 

"Something similar," Craig replied, taking a few books for himself. "Make sure to take everything you'll need, I don't know when we'll be coming back."

"Don't you need to work?" Kyle asked, unsurprised that his question hadn't gotten to him. Teflon Craig struck again, only absorbing what he deemed necessary. 

"That's our next stop." Taking Kyle's hand, Craig led him from the room and down the hall, stopping in front of his workroom and fishing a key from his pocket. 

"Are you serious?" Amazed, Kyle watched him slide the key into the lock and turn it. "You're actually going to let me see what's in there? You're so protective of it."

"Kyle, you've seen me take a life, I think I can stomach showing you my work space," Craig said wryly, pushing the door open. Out of all the rooms in the house, this one seemed the brightest; the fledgling sunlight struggling through airy, white curtains. They stepped inside, Craig still holding tightly to Kyle's hand as he looked around. 

"It's not what I expected," he said, turning to see everything. "At all."

He had expected the typical obsessive scene that one would see in a scary movie; photos littering the walls of him in various day to day situations... every surface dedicated to worshipping him. Kyle cringed inwardly, embarrassed that his ego had led him to that assumption, but considering Craig's preoccupation with him, was it really that farfetched?

Instead, it looked like a standard work room, at least from a cursory glance. There was an art table with a gooseneck lamp on it, shelves filled with books and supplies; the scent of ink, paint thinner, and the musty aroma of paper hanging over everything. The walls were painted a delicate blue, the floor wooden, and....

"What were you expecting?" Craig asked, clearly amused. "I'd be interested to know."

"Well, isn't that a surprise," Kyle replied, coming closer to the work table to see sketches and drawings laid out, some rendered in ink, others pencil, some looking like storyboards and others far more intricate; finalized, almost. He gasped, pressing a hand over his mouth. Shaking Craig off, he reached out to pull a page closer to himself, small tremors working their way upward from his feet and making his hands unsteady. 

"Is... is that me?" he asked, holding up the paper so he could better see it in the weak sunshine. It looked like a page from a graphic novel, the images clearly flowing to tell a story, and there in the very center, was a character that looked eerily like him, not completely realistic but not altogether cartoony either. 

"You've been my greatest success, Kyle," Craig said, stepping up to gaze down at his work, lovingly stroking the drawings. "The public loves you as much as I do."

"You mean you've..." he started rifling through the other pages, each of them more of the same, a pretty fantasy Kyle living out his life in black and white, "you've built your career on watching me? Putting my life on display?"

"Not necessarily, I don't use your real name, of course, and the story is told through someone else's perspective. Your admirer's subjective lens," he smiled, making Kyle's toes curl inside his socks. "But, yes, this has been my most popular work, mostly with the underground comics crowd... think Strangers in Paradise and American Splendor. I've had some mainstream success, but it's a work in progress."

"I really don't know what to say," Kyle said faintly, setting the papers aside and going to a bookshelf. Running a finger over the volumes, he stopped when his likeness jumped out at him again. He lifted the book, one of many in the series, and looked at the cover. "Beloved," he murmured, reading the title. 

"Your character doesn't have a name for most of the story," Craig explained, "the narrator refers to you as his beloved, mostly. He knows your name but he doesn't want to share it... giving away a name is like giving away a piece of the person, and he wants to own you completely."

"How much have you made off of this?" Kyle asked, threads of anger finally building up inside of him, breaking through his beaten down stupor. 

"I don't discuss money like that," Craig replied with obvious distaste. "It's uncouth."

"Oh, fuck that. You own a cottage by the ocean and seem to buy whatever you want," Kyle snapped, shoving the book back on the shelf. "I know you said your grandma left you money, but she couldn't have left you that much. That pretty much tells me that your entire lifestyle is funded by your twisted obsession."

Turning on him, Kyle couldn't keep the incredulous rage out of his voice. 

"My whole life has been put on hold because of money you earned from following me! It's like I actively contributed to my own imprisonment, Craig! This is so fucking messed up I can barely believe it! No wonder you didn't want to show me this room!"

"No, I didn't want to show you this room because it's the equivalent of showing you my innermost thoughts," Craig muttered, expression and tone darkening as he began gathering equipment; his laptop, books, a portfolio. He filled a messenger bag with them. "It's like tearing out my heart and handing it to you, just standing by and waiting for you to stomp on it or accept it. Well, I guess I have my answer now, don't i?"

"Yeah, woe is you," Kyle said bitterly, wanting to cover himself. Just when he thought he couldn't feel more exposed and violated, the situation just kept getting worse. It would seem that Craig truly didn't have a ceiling for surprising and horrifying him. 

"Let's just get out of here," Craig said, opening his jacket to put his wallet in an inside pocket. A flash of a gun in a holster caught Kyle's attention, making him take a step back. He noticed and gave him a look, one eyebrow raised. "I have a permit, Kyle. Plenty of people carry guns."

"Most of them don't use their guns to murder random drifters. At least, I hope they don't," Kyle replied, a vivid memory of the boy's stricken face coming to him, right when the bullet entered his skull and tore through his brain. "Please, just leave it here...I won't do anything. I'll cooperate."

"It has nothing to do with that," Craig sighed, taking a hold of Kyle's arm and pulling him close. He paused. "Okay, maybe partially, but it's really more for protection. You can never be too careful."

"I hate guns, I always have." Kyle cringed away, not wanting to feel the bulge of the gun through Craig's jacket, finding the idea as abhorrent as being close to him. "They're cruel... you didn't even break a sweat when you took a life. It shouldn't be that easy."

"Well, hopefully I won't have to use it again." Hefting his bag on his shoulder, Craig pulled him from the room, stopping in the dim corridor. Through the shadows, his gaze settled on Kyle. "Are you ready?"

An odd thought stirred in Kyle's head at that question, and he suddenly realized that he felt strangely anxious about venturing outside. He could imagine the open sky, white and gray with gathered clouds, the immensity of the waiting world full of people and sounds and movement, so much unpredictable, frenetic activity that he couldn't control or anticipate. 

It was in that moment that he became aware of how dependent he'd become on solitude, the quiet... the knowledge that, while he was trapped, he'd settled into a routine that he'd adapted to; become somewhat comfortable with, even if he didn't prefer or relish it. He swallowed, this revelation waking him up to sudden gut-curling apprehension and sick amazement at just how quickly a person could be altered by their circumstances. 

Going outside, not just on the porch or down to the sea, _scared_ him now. 

"I don't know," he answered blankly, not wanting to admit that Craig was actually succeeding in changing him on a deep, fundamental level; if that was truly his intent, of course. He tried to swallow, his mouth dry. "I feel strange. Overwhelmed."

"Perfectly understandable," Craig soothed him, gently ushering Kyle toward the foyer where their bags were stacked. "I had a feeling that might be the case, so I grabbed these."

He pulled something from his pocket, making Kyle catch his breath to see one of his prescription bottles. 

"Here," he shook one into his palm and held it out. "That should help, right? It's one of your Xanax."

"After that huge fucking tirade you went on about me abusing pills, you're really going to offer me that?" Kyle asked, staring at the pill and already itching to take it. He looked at Craig with deep suspicion. "Why do I get the feeling you want me to take that so it'll knock me out for a while... then you won't have to worry about me trying anything while we're on the road?"

"You know, your propensity for assuming the worst about me is really disheartening," Craig said, though he seemed vaguely amused. "I'd be more annoyed if it weren't justified this time, but I also think it'll help ease your anxiety... that's my main focus here."

"Angel of fucking mercy," Kyle snapped, swiping the pill and swallowing it dry. He sighed after he felt it drift down his throat, praying it would kick in quickly. 

"Let's go," Craig smiled, stuffing the bottle away and producing a set of keys. He opened the front door, letting it swing wide, the air rushing in along with the quiet, dismal sound of misty rainfall. Distantly, the ocean rushed and the wind whispered through the drenched pines. 

Kyle approached the threshold slowly, the way one would tiptoe toward the edge of a cliff, an astronaut considering alien terrain on an uncharted planet. He clung to the doorframe and could've cried at the change in him, how insidious it'd been. 

"You won't be shocked," Craig said softly, pressing a hand against Kyle's neck, nudging the hidden collar. "You're fine, just go. I'm right here."

"What a comforting thought," Kyle retorted, tone acidic but there was a note of hysteria in it as well. He wanted nothing more than to reject Craig completely, but he also felt anchored by his presence. It was horrifying, this sensation of being torn in two directions. 

The first step was decidedly jarring, as he'd never left the cottage by this door before, having always gone through the back. He found himself stepping on concrete again instead of wood or sand, and it astounded him, how truly removed he'd been. Looking around, he saw the front yard, comprised of dead grass and skeletal bushes flanking the front entrance. Moving farther away, slowly, he turned to get his first good look at his prison for the past several months; intimately acquainted with its guts but having never properly seen its face. 

Its facade was so normal, fairy tail-esque, almost, like a gingerbread house you would discover at the end of a long and winding road through a forest that existed in perpetual spring. The cottage was made of white clapboards with black shutters, the flower beds in front neat and cordoned off with silvery stones. The front mat stood out in vibrant red, and the path leading away from the structure was lined with tiny lights. 

All around Craig's home the trees loomed up, dark green and rustling, lonely spectres keeping watch and distantly, though he couldn't see it from where he stood, Kyle knew the sea was lapping and gnawing at the beach; helping to wash away a terrible secret. He hugged himself as he regarded all of this, very aware of Craig watching for any small reaction. Before he could speak, the scent of the sweet wood smoke came to him, and it stole his voice. 

"I'll just throw these in the back," Craig said, bringing their bags over to a waiting, black SUV with tinted windows. It was as nondescript as his clothing. Once done, he went to the passenger door and opened it, standing aside. He waited. 

Looking between the cottage and the car, Kyle felt torn, almost wanting to stay and hating himself beyond measure for it. He'd slipped into this mindset so easily... this specific insanity, and now there was no way to ignore it. 

"We need to go, baby," Craig said, voice smooth and coaxing. "This place doesn't feel safe right now... we need to stay away until things blow over. Just to be sure."

"It was never safe here," Kyle muttered, finally moving toward the car and climbing inside, grasping at the seat until his fingers ached. He looked out at the open road winding by the house and found himself fearing it in a dark, shameful place; the immense uncertainty laying before them and whispering of the unknown. 

\------

The car was warm and smelled of leather, meticulously neat. It almost seemed like a rental, nearly brand-new and practically never used. The scenery slid by in a wet, dreary stream of trees and occasional breaks where the sea curled in the distance. It lulled Kyle, all of this, as did the soft music Craig had chosen; lilting in the background. 

"You're starting to nod," Craig commented at one point, a smile in his voice. "Your medication must be kicking in, huh?"

Loopy and pliable, Kyle nodded, immersed in the wonderful feeling of the drug swimming through his blood. It felt nice to float again, the edges of the world, his worries, sanded down until they could be nearly forgotten. 

"Where are we going?" he asked, vaguely surprised that he didn't feel overly concerned. It wasn't like Craig was going to ask for his opinion on their destination, anyway. 

"Where would you like to go?"

"What?" Kyle shook his head, dizzy and groping to comprehend what he was sure was a mistake on his part. No, he must've misheard, the xanax messing with his hearing as well as his perceptions. 

Shifting in his seat, Craig reached to rest a hand on Kyle's knee. "I'm curious. If you had a choice, where would you like me to take you?"

"Ah, I see," Kyle laughed, squirming under the weight of Craig's touch. "If i had a choice...that clears things up." He thought a moment, mind swiftly unraveling and rendering him silly and foolish. "Isn't it obvious, though? Home, I'd want to go home... whatever that is now."

"Home can be anywhere," Craig commented, fingers pressing. Their heat bled through Kyle's jeans, almost making him moan; sensitive

and struggling to stay awake. He yawned, leaning his cheek against the soft seat. 

"My home is far from here," he said thickly, "and I know you want me to forget about it, but I can't. I won't."

"A home is a concept, not a place," Craig said, turning up the heat and angling it toward Kyle. Sighing, he lay his hand back on Kyle's leg, a little higher this time. "You really miss it, don't you?"

"You know I do. It was all mine...I could do whatever I wanted with it. I could listen to the city, the people going by...I may not have been what you'd consider happy, but I was connected to something bigger than myself. Now I barely exist." He yawned again, eyes sliding shut. "It's scary when you really think about it; how quickly you can change. One day you wake up and the person you were, the person you thought you were, anyway, is just gone."

"That stuff hit you really hard," Craig replied, his voice melting into a more dulcet tone, nearly soothing in Kyle's compromised state. 

"Hmm," Kyle hummed softly, already beginning to drop off. Stretching, he tried to ease into a more comfortable position, all the while aware of Craig's hand resting on him; possessive and needful. It wasn't long before he was going under, the smooth jostling of the car akin to being rocked slowly to sleep. 

He felt damp and hot inside his clothes when he was shaken awake hours later, the light outside the windows dim but not just from rain; evening was already beginning to fall. 

"You slept really deeply," Craig said with approval, brushing moist bangs from Kyle's eyes. "Feel better?"

"I'm hungry," Kyle replied, groggy and annoyed from being pulled from an actual restful sleep. He hadn't even dreamed. "And thirsty."

"You're in luck, then." Pointing, Craig looked out the foggy windshield toward a small diner. "I figured now was a good time to stop, before it gets too late. I don't want your schedule to get thrown off just because we're on the road."

"My schedule," Kyle repeated, looking out as well, lips and tongue dry. His middle ached with emptiness. Embarrassed, he realized he needed to relieve himself, too. He scowled, hating that his body seemed to be trained to Craig's specifications. "I've noticed that about you, your devotion to routine."

"Life is unpredictable," Craig said, unbuckling his seat belt, "I just try to control the little that I can. Don't you like having order?"

"Not when it's against my will." He winced, his neck twinging from having been held in an awkward position for too long. 

"Poor thing," Craig said, reaching to rub him gently. 

Finally, Kyle couldn't take this casual contact, this expectation of being touched at a whim, without protest, pulling away to huddle against the window. Craig stared at him with subdued interest. 

"You're always touching me," Kyle murmured, "whenever you want to, like you have the right. I don't like it."

Slow blinks, a tongue sliding over glossy teeth (that one crooked incisor) and then -

"I know, but I can't help it. I need to touch you."

Kyle snapped his head around to look at him. "You said you didn't want to hurt me."

"I don't believe I am."

"Well, you are, regardless of what you believe."

Craig laughed lightly, catching Kyle off guard. "It's definitely time to eat, I think. You're becoming argumentative, and I'm sure being tired isn't helping." Becoming stern, his expression discouraged Kyle from responding. He gestured to the diner. "You'll behave."

Kyle blinked, noticing the words hadn't been posed as a question. He opened his mouth to speak but Craig waved his hand. 

"You heard me."

Being in public again, amongst people, even in such a small, out of the way place, proved to be harder than Kyle had anticipated. He was thankful that it was quiet and there were very few customers, but it still felt so bright and so open; taxing. He'd never been a huge fan of crowds as a general rule, but at least before his abduction he'd been able to pretend a little better. 

It didn't help that he was terrified of making a wrong move and encouraging Craig to become reckless. He already felt the blood of one innocent life on his hands; he was certain he'd lose his mind completely if he played a part (no matter how small or unintentional) in taking another. As such, he found himself staying very close to Craig's side as soon as they were out of the car, practically becoming his shadow as they entered the faded diner and waited to be seated. 

"Calm down," Craig tried to sooth him as they settled into a worn booth, facing one another. The server had already bustled away to grab waters and silverware for them, her long brunette ponytail swinging. "Nothing's going to happen as long as you mind yourself."

"Why couldn't we just get something to go?" Kyle muttered, hands clenched on his knees as he stared blankly at the menu. It was overloaded with choices, he thought; clearly, this was the sort of place that served too many things for any of them to be very good. It annoyed him, mainly because he wasn't used to eating a meal he hadn't prepared himself, from much more limited options. It was daunting. 

"Why, Kyle," Craig replied, "and here I thought you'd like to get out for a while. Besides, don't you think this is fun? It's like a normal date."

"Your grasp of normalcy is supremely fucked up," Kyle hissed, sinking into himself when the server returned, plunking down cutlery and glasses. 

"So, what can I get you two to drink?" she asked, flipping open a pad and readying to write. She looked tired but cheerful, a small port wine birthmark standing out vividly on her neck. Kyle looked away quickly when she made eye contact. 

"Coffee for me. Black," Craig said cheerfully. "Kyle, what about you, baby?"

Scowling, Kyle nervously fumbled with the collar hidden under his sweater, deeply humiliated like everyone could see; as if they knew he was owned like a glorified pet. His eyes scraped over his choices but he couldn't settle, grating his bottom lip with his teeth. 

"Coke, I think," Craig spoke up. "That should do."

She jotted it down, but Kyle could feel her staring at him. "You guys need more time to decide?"

"I think so," Craig said easily, so flawlessly in control, so collected, that it made Kyle burn inside. From an outsider's perspective, he probably looked like the mental patient while Craig appeared perfectly normal. 

"Okay, I'll be right back, guys." She walked away again, but not before lingering next to Kyle for a moment. 

"I'm leaning toward a burger," Craig commented, tapping his menu, "something simple, you know? What about you?"

"What does it matter?" Kyle replied, sick that he suddenly felt like crying. Or hiding under the table where it was dark... possibly running to the bathroom and locking himself in a stall. He pushed his menu away, his appetite waning. 

"Hey," Craig said softly, leaning forward, "relax. It's just food. No big deal, right? Everything's okay."

"That's easy for you to say!" Kyle snapped, earning the bite of the collar and a look of reproach from Craig simultaneously. He pressed his fist into his mouth, gnawing on it to redirect the pain. "Just decide for me, will you? I don't care what I have as long as it's quick."

Craig blinked slowly before nodding, taking a fleeting glance at the menu. "Chicken fried steak. Maybe it'll actually put some meat on your little bird bones."

"Fine." Kyle slapped the menu closed and sat back, arms crossed as he began to rock. 

_You can do this. You'll be fine. Craig said nothing would happen as long as you control yourself, so do it. Stop being a chickenshit. _

"Baby," Craig murmured, all sweetness and care, like they were an actual couple out on a date. "Listen -"

"Here we go," the server trilled, coming back with their drinks. She gently set Kyle's soda before him and he stared at it, plump droplets rolling down its sides. "There you go, sugar," she added to him, more softly. 

"We're ready, I believe," Craig smiled, and off he went, taking control of the situation like it was his job.

It wasn't long before their meals were brought and Kyle laboriously slaved to clear his plate, throat tight and stomach unsettled. He made it halfway before finally giving up, mouth thick with the taste of gravy and heavy mashed potatoes. Pressing a hand to his stomach afterward, he kept his eyes on the formica table as Craig and the server quibbled over the subject of dessert. 

"What would you like, hon?" the server asked Kyle directly, leaning down a little and giving him a kind, open look. He noticed her name tag, the black letters spelling out "Kristy".

_I'd like you to save me, Kristy with a K, but I'm afraid you'll get killed if you try. You see, I've been held hostage for months and now I'm terrified of the world and, well, the world has forgotten about me, I guess. It's moved on, you see. Oh, and we're both occupying space with a murderer but don't be alarmed... he won't do anything as long as I act like a good little boy. _

"He likes chocolate cake," Craig suggested. "Don't you, baby?"

Kyle nodded, looking back at the table. 

"But we'll get it to go," he added, pulling out his wallet. "It's getting late and all... gotta get back on the road."

\-------

"You know, I have to commend you," Craig said idly as he pulled back onto the highway, the to go box of cake nestled on Kyle's lap. He stared at it, tracing with a finger the big smiley face Kristy had written on the top in black marker; **_ENJOY!_ **also scrawled in garish, loopy letters. 

Kyle, feeling dim and drained, stared out the window instead of answering. Outside, the sky was purple and blue like an ugly bruise, scatterings of businesses sliding by and appearing lost and derelict. 

"I could tell you were having a hard time in there but you really kept it together," Craig continued, nodding with proud satisfaction. "I had my concerns, of course, but you came through. Thank you."

"I wouldn't be too pleased," Kyle said dully, "you have me coming and going... what other choice did I have?"

"But still, you've learned." Once again, Craig rested a hand on Kyle's leg, but now it was on his mid-thigh, his thumb stroking long and slow; languidly. "You fought your instincts and won... you're developing control."

"I'm falling apart," Kyle whispered.

"You've just had a long day, we both have. That's all." Perking up, Craig put on his blinker when he saw a green sign coming up, a myriad of hotels and campsites listed on it. "Here we go."

"We aren't stopping, are we?" Kyle asked, coming awake slightly, trying to ignore Craig's hand lingering and moving closer; gripping on occasion the paltry girth of his thigh. 

"I'm tired, Kyle," Craig replied, navigating yet another road until they came upon a Holiday Inn, all lit up. "I've been awake much longer than you... don't forget I let you sleep while I took care of our visitor."

"How could I forget?" Clutching at the box of cake, Kyle lapsed into silence as Craig parked in front of the lobby entrance. Pulling out the keys, he stroked Kyle's face before asking him if he was ready; reminding him in the sweet voice from before that the night was almost over. 

As it turned out, there was a convention in town so the hotel was nearly booked solid. The only room they had left that hadn't already been reserved had one bed, a king size, but this was enough to make Kyle horribly uneasy. He trailed behind Craig as they walked the quiet and brightly lit hallway, the box still in his hands, eyes locked on the smiley face. 

"This isn't too bad," Craig commented when he'd snapped on a light, illuminating the room with green carpet, seaside paintings on the walls, and the one large bed; meticulously made and seeming to mock the pair. He set down their bags and stretched, pulling Kyle close against his side before sitting on the bed, guiding him onto his lap. 

"Should we give it a try?" he teased, opening the box and breaking off a small piece of the confection with his fingers, lifting and offering it to Kyle. 

Repulsed, Kyle whimpered when Craig's hand curved around his waist, tight and locking him in. The cake hovered before his lips, rich and covered with a decadent frosting; its aroma wafting to him but hardly enticing. 

"I forgot to add," Craig murmured, "I have a reward for you... to thank you for tonight."

"You do?" Kyle asked, lips parting and shuddering when the cake was gently put in his mouth, collapsing on his tongue. He chewed slowly, studying Craig's face as his own flamed, cheeks awash in humiliating warmth. 

"Mhmm." Smiling, Craig offered him more cake before kissing him softly, lips teasing and tasting him, licking away the sugar left behind. He sighed, holding Kyle that much tighter. "I'm going to take you home for a visit."

Kyle started, the action only pressing him closer to Craig who set the cake aside, sliding him off his lap so he could push him down on the bed. Terror-struck, Craig's body covered his own, legs tangling together as he held Kyle's chin, making it so he couldn't look away. 

"I saw the expression on your face when you talked about it," he said, drawing Kyle's arms above his head, capturing his wrists in one hand. "Why? Is there somewhere else you'd rather go?" Turning Kyle's head, he lapped at his throat. 

Kyle could only stare at the ceiling as Craig seemed to feed on him, devouring his words and resolve, his strength. He was afraid that if he protested Craig would take the gift away; the opportunity to maybe go home for a while. Instead, he shook his head, arching slightly when he felt fingertips creeping under his sweater; settling on the flat slope of his belly; pressing before slowly being withdrawn. 

"Just for a moment," Craig said softly, unzipping Kyle's jacket and sliding it apart. "I won't go too far, okay? And then tomorrow I'll take you all the way to Baltimore...would that make you happy?"

"Please," Kyle managed to say, more a breath than anything else, the word becoming vapor that broke into pieces when Craig kissed him again. He shut his eyes and tried to drift, thinking of the harbor with its light and promise of home, of being connected to reality again....

_Please_, his mind continued to whisper, shutting off slowly while Craig passed over him like a shadow, eclipsing the weak light still struggling within; hands stretching out to claim the body lying beneath him as if it were his due. 


	9. Chapter 9

**_That without you is how I disappear_ **   
** _And live my life alone forever now_ **   
** _And without you is how I disappear_ **   
** _And live my life alone forever now_ **

** _Can you hear me cry out to you?_ **   
** _Words I thought I'd choke on figure out_ **   
** _I'm really not so with you anymore_ **   
** _I'm just a ghost_ **   
** _So I can't hurt you anymore_ **

** _\- This is How I Disappear, My Chemical Romance_ **

* * *

They took breakfast in their room early the next morning, after Craig had given Kyle his options; after the sunlight had woken him up. 

"Room service or a restaurant," he'd said, cuddling Kyle closer, voice muzzy with fatigue. "I think there's a Waffle House not too far from here, or a Shoney's, but I'll let you decide."

Kyle, who'd woken slowly, had opted for room service. He hadn't wanted to deal with the crowd, the eyes watching and knowing. 

They'd know that Craig had kissed him the night before until he'd begged him to stop, because Kyle had known, could feel, that the point of no return was approaching them. It'd been looming in the background, all while Craig's roaming hands and nipping teeth had explored and violated him; baring white skin that should've remained covered and untouched. 

But he'd stopped. By the grace of some unseen, faceless God he'd stopped. Kyle couldn't say he was grateful for many things in his life currently but he'd been grateful for that. Euphoric, even. 

Out of everything that had already been broken irreparably, a part of him was still intact. 

That hadn't stopped Craig from spending the night beside him, though, wrapping strong, tattooed arms around Kyle. After he'd been chained, of course; just his hands, as there wasn't a frame to attach the ankle cuffs to. 

"We've never done this before, not this way," Craig had murmured against Kyle's nape, bare chest pressed to a back covered only in a thin tshirt. "I slept in bed with you when you were sick, but this is different."

Kyle hadn't answered, had merely prayed for sleep and ultimately, morning. He didn't want to think about being held; he hadn't wanted to admit that sometimes it felt nice to indulge in warmth that didn't come from blankets alone. He hated to admit that as much as he wanted to be an island, the intrinsic need for human contact ran deep in places that couldn't necessarily be altered. Instead, he'd emptied his mind, becoming a doll in Craig's arms that wasn't truly there.

Now he was picking at his food, fruit and oatmeal and a bagel slathered with cream cheese. He drank coffee and Craig did the same, having purchased a paper in the lobby so he could do the crossword puzzle. He'd ordered pancakes with scrambled eggs and bacon. Kyle eyed the plate with distaste; he could've done a better job. Craig hated dry eggs. 

"Nurse, e.g.," he said, looking up from his paper. "Five letters."

"Your eggs are overdone," Kyle replied, lifting a strawberry slice to his lips. "Are you going to send them back?"

His question seemed to take Craig by surprise, but then he was smiling softly. "They're not as good as yours, but no, I won't do that. I'll just eat them and wish you'd made them instead."

Kyle nodded but he still felt annoyed. Why, he couldn't say, but there was a restlessness moving through him. Maybe it was partially due to the sunlight filling the room and highlighting Craig's skin, the bright sheen of his hair. He hadn't put a shirt on after he'd showered, so Kyle could see all of him; pale flesh and toned chest. Not overly muscular but strong. Tattoos crawled up his arms, koi and fantastical creatures among other articles; that vivid red umbrella. He'd never done that before, had always come to the table fully clothed... perhaps the rules were different when they were traveling. Either way, it made Kyle uneasy.

"We're about an hour away, give or take," Craig went on, returning to his paper, "how does that make you feel?"

Shrugging, Kyle smeared juice across his plate, the food a weight in an unsettled belly. What did Craig want to hear right now? That he was excited? Scared? He was everything but how could he articulate that?

"Can I have another Xanax?" he asked instead, choking down some sugary oatmeal to appease his companion; tired of hearing him harp endlessly about Kyle's supposed emaciation. 

The pencil tapped a muted thud against the table for a moment before Craig replied. 

"You can have half of one."

This was enough to carry Kyle through the ride without having to be fully aware, the morning so unbearably luminous now that the rains had passed. He hated it, wished for the clouds to come back; choking the light. His head lolled against the seat as Craig drove at a steady clip, and before too long the city was opening up in the distance. 

"I've never understood why they call it Charm City," Craig commented, glancing at Kyle and seeming to notice that the brightness of it all was bothering him. He frowned before offering the sunglasses he'd been wearing, nudging them into Kyle's hand. 

"Thanks," he said softly, putting them on; thankful for this small kindness and the soothing darkness. He stared at the skyline and could see why Craig regarded it with disdain, but still, he couldn't find the city entirely without its merits. "Baltimore has character... it's eccentric."

Fear and excitement twisted together like curls of barbed wire in his belly as they drew closer to his condo, the water shining green and the harbor bustling with tourists and locals; sightseers and people of business in their suits and tailored skirts and blouses. It was bizarre and disorienting to have Craig beside him as they approached his home; having never looked upon it at the same time, certainly not from the same angle and vantage point. 

And yet Craig knew the way precisely, like he was driving to his own place, which was hardly surprising. Kyle began pinching the inside of his wrist to keep himself grounded when the car was parked, right up the street from the basketball court on the corner and the Visionary Art Museum with its mirrored sculptures outside throwing specks of sun across the pavement. 

Craig was quiet as he climbed out, came around and opened Kyle's door, offering him his hand like a courting suitor. Kyle reluctantly took it, blushing hotly when a couple strolled by and smiled at them, no doubt admiring such a small, seemingly romantic gesture. Oh, if only they knew. 

"I'm not holding your hand to cross the street," he muttered, wincing when Craig held him tighter, guiding his hand to his arm instead. 

"Hold there, then," he replied, looking both ways before leading them across the road. The cluster of shining white condos lay before them, practically new and upscale. There was an underground parking garage they could've used but Kyle only had one spot available; his BMW already occupying it. Craig clucked his tongue. "You made decent money before, I imagine."

Kyle gritted his teeth, clutching at Craig's arm and wanting to squeeze until it hurt. "If you won't talk about your income i won't talk about mine. I was comfortable, though. At least i used to be."

"You're right, that was rude. I apologize." Reaching into his pocket, Craig withdrew a familiar set of keys. "Shall we check the mail?"

"It'll be stuffed full." Kyle paused, wanting to grab at the keys, to restore some semblance of normalcy amongst the dreamlike circumstances unfolding. "Why did you bring those?"

"Like I said before, I prefer to be prepared." Craig opened the door to the main lobby, which was large and sparkled with white tile floors; green ferns resting in shadowed alcoves. Off to the side were a row of mailboxes he immediately went to, choosing Kyle's easily from the bunch and slipping the key into the lock. 

Kyle watched, nonplussed and hardly surprised by such things anymore. He also wasn't surprised when there was a single scrap of paper in the box, informing him that his mail could be picked up at the post office.

"Makes sense," he said, squashing the paper into a ball. "After a while they can't fit any more in... so, they take it all away. It's happened before."

"It has?" Craig raised a brow. 

"I strive to avoid things that heighten my anxiety, and the mail tends to be full of bad news."

"Ah, I understand. Bills."

"No, I have those all set up to be paid automatically, but I'm sure you already knew that," Kyle replied, instinctively taking Craig's arm without being guided. He flushed, a sickening pulse throbbing low in his stomach. "That really worked out in your favor, now that I think about it."

"Yours, too," Craig said wryly, pulling him along; once again needing no direction. "My little ant with his sizable nest egg... always ready for winter, right?"

"I was paid well and I never lived beyond my means." Shying closer to Craig's side, Kyle avoided a cluster of people who glanced at them with vague interest. He didn't know them, figuring they must've moved in after he'd been spirited away. 

Further evidence that the world simply moved on without remorse, turning in its cruel, relentless pace. 

They stepped onto the elevator, empty and cool, where Craig herded him into the corner after hitting the button for floor number six. It was almost like he was shielding Kyle from anyone who might happen to climb on; the smaller man left to stare at the front of his dark jacket. 

"You seemed to want me close," he said, amused, "was I wrong?"

Humiliated, Kyle refused to answer, choosing instead to detach and count the specks on the elevator floor; little glimmers in the marble. There was no way he was going to give Craig the satisfaction of knowing that he represented something familiar, even if his presence also reeked of terror and being held captive in the dark. He sucked in a breath when he felt fingers under his chin, forcing him to look up. 

"Don't hide inside your mind," Craig said, shaking him a little, "I wasn't trying to shame you... I've just noticed the change and I like it."

Kyle was afraid then, more fearful than he'd normally be in just such a situation, because Craig was blurring the lines between them every day. More and more, he walked through Kyle's defenses like they were a suggestion instead of an actual barrier, and he wasn't sure how he could fight. Craig looked at him with a lover's eyes, tasting him before touching him, and the touches (caresses) were becoming so bold... like the ones he'd subjected Kyle to in the hotel last night. They'd been ravenous, capable of stripping him down to his most vulnerable parts; the blood and bones of his makeup. 

Relief, thick and sweet like honey, was instantaneous within him when the elevator stopped and slid open to reveal the hallway that would inevitably lead to his front door. Craig held him for a moment more before moving back, allowing Kyle passage though he settled a hand on the bony indention between his shoulder blades. 

"I've always liked how quiet it is here," Craig commented, once again taking command of the keys when they stopped in front of their destination; a green door with very little fuss. The other entrances lining the corridor had personal touches, welcome mats, little plants on stands, wreaths sparkling with ribbon and baubles. Kyle's door was blank, unadorned. He'd never seen the point. 

"That's why I chose it," he replied, heartbeat ramping up as the key was twisted in the lock, trying to forget that Craig had probably stood here (quite uninvited) many, many times before; to linger and listen, to lay a card with an umbrella on the floor for Kyle to find. "People keep to themselves, and," he added with a lifted eyebrow, "they mind their own business."

"I toured one of these once, just to get an idea of the layout." Craig pushed the door open, the motion sucking air like the condo had been vacuum-sealed. He looked down at Kyle who'd taken his hand away to touch them both to his throat, hyper-focused and staring into what had long since become a fever-dream. "Kyle?"

"I just never thought I'd see it again," he whispered, stepping past him and crossing a threshold into the past. The condo was blessedly the same physically, as it should be, untouched...air dry, cream carpets, hushed and cool with blue shadows. Possessed by these elements, Kyle walked down the hall until he came upon the sunken living room, passing by dark blue furniture and opening the door to the balcony. 

He nearly sighed to smell the familiar scents carried on the air. The breeze was rife with salt, different from the sea, the bay possessing the brackish aroma of fresh water as well; punctuated with gasoline from the many boats and yachts tethered to the docks. He saw them now, lined up in white rows, some pulling away and bobbing. Across the expanse of water was the Domino sugar factory and the aquarium, the gigantic clipper ship with its proud masts.

Through it all was the sound of life, of traffic and chattering voices, clacking footsteps of people hurrying and others strolling. He opened his arms to it all before clutching at the railing, drinking it all in until he was painful with the fullness; overflowing from unfamiliar stimulation. He was so overcome that he didn't fight when he felt warmth on his shoulder, a gentle pressing of his clavicle. 

"I can see why you'd miss this. The city's actually pretty from this point of view," Craig mused, dropping his other hand on Kyle's opposite shoulder. 

"It isn't just the view," Kyle said, some of his intense yearning evaporating, pulled back to his current lot. He didn't bother to explain his point, aware that Craig would never understand. Savage from the unspoken wanting and this newest invasion -

_He's in my home. I let him open the door and walk right in. What's reality anymore? Up is down and backwards is forwards... he's here beside me, seeing what I see. And this is supposed to be a favor, an act of graciousness. _

A violation. This was just another violation, he realized with cutting clarity, possibly worse than the others. It wasn't just bodies that could be opened and raped, no minds could too, and places. Kyle had never thought of his condo as being completely safe, but now it was in danger of truly being tainted, the debasement bleeding in as he stood there, helpless to stop it. 

"Why did we even come here?" he asked, hands trembling on the railing. The voices and thrums of the city were fading away; his mind being overtaken with shrill self-abuse. He'd been so stupid, blind to what he'd wanted rather than what he needed. "What's the point? I'm not allowed to stay, right?"

"To lay low, and you wanted to come back." The answer came, aggravatingly simplistic. "And no, we can't stay. We'll leave after a few days, when I feel like it's safe again."

"A few days," Kyle repeated, dazed but understanding now. What they'd been doing before in the cottage would be acted out here, in Kyle's kitchen, his living room, his bed. Throat tightening, he panicked because the thought was so disconcerting, so altogether horrifying. Slipping out from under Craig's hands, he tried to skirt past him toward the door, crying out when he felt a squeeze around his wrist, keeping him in place though he strained against it. 

"We can't do this here! This is mine! This is all supposed to be mine!" Kyle yelled, aching from the collar but aching more from how childish he sounded. It couldn't be helped, though; this was what Craig had reduced him to, a scared, cowering child that refused to obey, at least completely. It was bitter but it was true, and he accepted this cruelty like a knife to his side. "You have everything else, Craig! Why do you need this too?!"

Craig's expression, one of pity and a deep, palpable sorrow, morphed to contain minute threads of joy; faint crackles of it in his muted irises like summer lightning. He responded as he often did to one of Kyle's frantic outcries: he reached out and hugged him close, winding fingers through his curls. He shushed him softly, waiting out the worst of his sobs. 

"I'm not trying to take this from you," he murmured, "I just wanted to share it with you, but it belongs to you. I promise." He shuddered a little, something that had never happened while he held Kyle against him. "You said I have everything else, though... you've never admitted to that before. Are you starting to accept all of this, at least a little?"

"If you're asking whether you're breaking me down," Kyle replied, voice thick, "then fine, you're winning, but why would that make you happy? It isn't the same thing as love."

"It's more than I had before," Craig said, burying his face in Kyle's curls. 

Overhead, the sun broke over them again, still hatefully bright; Kyle wanted to hide from it but Craig held him tighter. Down below, voices passed under the balcony, raw with laughter until they faded away, until the world became nothing but Craig, kissing Kyle's hair over and over. 

\------

Craig made quick work of securing the condo, which doubled as a tour; proving once again that he was a man that had a healthy respect for efficiency. 

"I thought it would be neater," he commented, taking in the state of Kyle's messy bedroom: unkempt bed, a treadmill with clothes flung over it, books and empty wine glasses on the side table. "The rest of your place is immaculate...oh, that's right." He snapped his fingers. "You have a housekeeper."

"Yes," Kyle said tightly, cringing when he realized he'd already begun tidying up, almost like it was an automatic impulse. "She doesn't come in here. It's off limits."

"Not to your dates, I'm sure," he said wryly, lingering next to the bed before running a finger along the headboard. "We'll have to text her, of course; tell her she's no longer needed."

"It's just as well," Kyle sighed, still picking up clothes and folding them, stopping to linger over them every now and then, each a reminder of things long gone; slacks and button ups, work attire. Craig didn't like to see him in those sorts of garments, so he had none. "It's not like there's any messes for her to clean up anymore."

"Nice bathroom," Craig said, flipping on the light in the adjoining room. He glanced at Kyle, noticeably perturbed. "No bathtub, though. The model I looked at had a bathtub."

"I opted for a larger shower with a bench instead," Kyle shrugged, venomously pleased to see Craig's disappointment. "Guess you can't satisfy your weird need to bathe me while we're here."

"We'll just have to bathe together," Craig parried easily. "After dinner, I suppose." He snapped the light off.

Kyle could feel the blood draining from his face at these words. That had been an aspect of all this that he'd been eternally grateful for: Craig never showing all of himself, insisting on maintaining a certain level of modesty in Kyle's presence. He thought back to that morning, Craig shirtless at the breakfast table....

_He's just acting like all of these little changes are normal, like he's acclimating me to having even less boundaries. That conniving son of a bitch. _

"You can't be -"

Craig waved his hand as he studied the room, no doubt making sure he'd taken everything that could aid in an escape attempt. 

"You won't change my mind, so let's just skip this conversation." He smiled, easing into a carefree attitude with unsettling swiftness. "Show me the kitchen."

Kyle felt stiff as he led Craig out of the bedroom, jaw aching with tension from being clenched so hard. Soon they were standing in the kitchen with its modern, silver appliances; fixtures sparkling like new. Craig went immediately to the fridge and opened it.

"Bare, as I suspected it'd be," he said. "I mean, there's mustard and pickles... and about a vineyard's worth of wine." He paused before drawing out a bottle; he held it aloft. 

Dom Perignon, chilled and ready in its green glass that reflected the light of the open fridge. 

"Fancy," he commented. 

"I held onto it for a special occasion." In truth, the champagne had been purchased on impulse a while back, after Kyle had received a healthy bonus. It had quickly become a point of contention for him, mainly because he never seemed to have anything really worth celebrating. 

"Why don't we make this a special occasion, then?" Oddly, Craig looked shy about this suggestion; not absolutely sure of himself.

Kyle blinked, licking his lip and trying to take stock of Craig's audacity and delusion. He almost had to laugh, at least it was better than crying.

"You want to toast the fact that you're holding me hostage in my place instead of yours? Am I understanding this correctly?"

"Fine, never mind," Craig muttered, going to put the bottle back in the fridge, "I just thought it might be fun."

"Fun, now that's a hell of a concept, considering our circumstances," Kyle retorted, crossing his arms. He sighed. "Fuck it, fine. Let's drink the damn stuff. But," he added, "I get to drink as much as I want."

Craig studied him for a moment before slowly closing the fridge, champagne still gripped in his hand. He shook his head, chuckling. "Brat," he said, "I really shouldn't be condoning that kind of behavior. You know that."

"One night," Kyle replied, thinking of later, of the glass shower, sharing it with Craig... fingers trailing over his headboard and the chains waiting in a bag. He hugged himself, desperately wanting to shut off his mind for as long as he could. "It isn't asking for too much. Not after everything's that's happened."

"Spoken like a true addict," Craig said, looking in cabinets until he found a pair of champagne flutes. 

Kyle sighed before throwing up his hands. "So, I'm an addict. We all cope in different ways...I like being fucked up. It makes me feel safe." He frowned, considering this train of thought. "I almost feel content."

"I never thought I'd hear you admit something like that." Popping the cork, a healthy spray of golden champagne poured over the green glass where it dripped into the sink. "I'm impressed, honestly... that's a difficult truth to own up to."

"I suppose forced sobriety has given me a chance to attain some clarity," Kyle mumbled, thirstily watching as the booze dribbled into the flutes, bubbly and so wonderfully crisp. He waited, though, for Craig to offer him his glass; mouth watering. 

"You're a lot more patient than you used to be," Craig said nonchalantly, pushing the glass over. "Have you noticed?"

"Let's have a snack," Kyle replied, ignoring the statement; its unsettling implications. "Drinking champagne alone is so depressing. We need something to offset it... cheese, fruit... sweet and salty."

"You don't have anything here," Craig reminded him, lifting his drink to his lips. "Remember?"

"We can order in," Kyle said airily, "I'm close to some wonderful restaurants. Indian, Thai, Ethiopian..."

"Well, it has been a while since I've had decent Thai food," Craig replied, tapping his flute against his chin. Kyle watched, immensely happy that he hadn't suggested they actually clink glasses... he probably would've thrown the expensive libation in Craig's face. 

Wordlessly, Kyle pulled a menu from a drawer and threw it on the counter. "Take a look. I always get the same thing."

Craig did, sipping absentmindedly at his champagne. Before too long, he looked up, grinning. "Lard Na, I think."

"I imagine you'll call," Kyle replied, tone deadpan. 

"We can even use your phone," Craig said, tugging it from his pocket and holding it up. Just the sight of it was enough to make Kyle's stomach lurch, somewhat souring the wonderful taste of the spirit on his tongue. 

"Do you just carry that everywhere?" he asked faintly. Knees a little weak, he leaned against the island, a hand pressed to his temple. After his suicide attempt and the events following it, he'd avoided even thinking about his phone... about anything (anyone) connected to it. He'd effectively shut down like a tired and overworked machine. Stan was always background music in his head, but he'd managed to dim the volume for a while; now it was back in full force. It mixed with the static and made him want to scream. 

"Stan's been sending more texts than usual," Craig said, unlocking the device. He looked up, almost seeming uncomfortable. "And a voicemail... from just a few days ago. Did you want to listen to it?"

Now Kyle was truly immobilized, because he had a feeling what the upswing in communication stemmed from, which effectively brought everything full circle... memories from years ago that still burned him. He wanted to listen, to hear that husky-sweet, soul-wrenching voice; that special cadence and rhythm of speaking that no one else but stan could produce... God, how he wanted it filling his ear, his head, whispered against his skin, but at the same time....

"No... no, not right now," he said, "maybe later. Just not now."

_Maybe when I'm good and drunk. Obliterated. Maybe then. _

He'd been so long without a steady supply of alcohol that the champagne hit him hard, and he proved to be so beguiling and persuasive when he was tipsy that Craig caved when Kyle begged for something harder; mouthfuls of Malibu Black mixed with warm cans of cherry Coke discovered in the back of the pantry. 

"It's weird drinking stars and then jumping to this," Craig commented while sipping slowly from his glass, though he didn't truly indulge. He'd had one flute of champagne and was really only nursing the Malibu. He'd called in their food order and had answered the door when it arrived; Kyle drifting in a haze and staring out the open patio door while night gathered itself quietly. 

"It's weird having a floor picnic with my kidnapper," Kyle replied, nibbling at a piece of pork; head swimming and vision cloudy, though it also felt like he was peering through a veil of swirling glitter. They were in the middle of his living room, takeout containers littered around them, and the windows were filled with hazy neon light and faint stars. The sounds of the day became the whispers of nightlife; music playing distantly, a pulse in the air. Kyle was propped against the couch, boneless from the day and drink, while Craig watched. His eyes were quietly hungry but he kept his distance, sleeves rolled up and feet bare. 

"I can't tell you how many times I imagined something similar to this," Craig said, licking a finger after placing a noodle between his teeth. "Us together, eating after a long day. Just talking." He sighed. "I'm so content right now, like my life's come full-circle... I'm afraid to close my eyes for too long, like everything will disappear before I can open them again."

Kyle giggled, unable to take Craig seriously when he was so wonderfully, beautifully fucked up. He pressed his fingertips together, studying his hands; the wrists where ghosts of scars lay from the cuffs. 

"Your mind must be such a scary place," he slurred, trying to imagine it; the neighborhood housed in Craig's head, all dark alleys and basements. He thought of his sketches, too, and he felt inexplicably melancholy. "But beautiful too, right? You do such awful things but I've seen what you can create." He giggled again. "What are you? I just can't figure it out."

"You've had way too much," Craig replied, becoming stern and moving to take the glass from Kyle's hand; frowning when it was swiftly slapped away. "I was wrong, I shouldn't have let you -"

"Do you constantly need to be reminded that you're in control here?" Kyle snapped, cutting him off and tugging at his collar. "Isn't it obvious enough? Did you ever stop to think that I'm terrified of you? Of what's going to happen, because I can feel it...I can see it just from the way you look at me, and I'm trying to find a way to survive it all?"

Craig stared at him, clearly trying to appear composed but his eyes gave him away; oceans with tempests underneath. Jaw tensed, he licked his lips. 

"I won't hurt you," he said, but now he didn't sound so sure. He pressed his hands against his face. "Whatever happens will be because I love you. I know that. You know that. We're all we have."

"I'm your hostage," Kyle replied, knocking back the rest of his drink. "You're hurting me even when you don't touch me, but if you want to delude yourself, I can't make you see reality. Christ, I saw you kill a man, Craig. You're crazy."

"He's gone," Craig said, voice muffled, "he might as well never have existed. Besides," he looked up, expression severe, "his blood's on your hands too, and you know it. We're both selfish."

"I'm not hearing you dispute the fact that you're crazy," Kyle laughed, licking at the rum running down the rim of his glass. On the inside, though, he ached with guilt. Once more, the dead boy's face came to him, pleading with clear blue eyes. "I was trying to save my own life, you were just keeping a lid on your own disgusting secrets. You're a nightmare, a monster; you don't deserve -"

It was in slow motion that he watched his glass fly from his hand, the rum and soda within sloshing out in a brown arc that cascaded over the carpet and the front of Kyle's shirt; droplets clinging to his mouth and chin that dripped slowly. He stared at Craig who was panting, eyes wild with rage and a strange, muted fear. 

"Don't like hearing the truth, do you?" Kyle asked, rubbing his hand where he'd been struck. Bringing his fingers to his face, he sucked a digit languidly; mellow-flavored as it slid over his tongue. "I can't say that I blame you... I've never liked hearing it myself."

"You're teasing me, that's what you're doing," Craig whispered, almost sounding frightened now; frantic and alternating between staring at Kyle and his own hand. "You know I'm barely keeping it together and..." he clenched his fingers slowly, "you want this to happen, that's why you keep goading me. You know I won't do anything unless I feel like you want it, so you're pushing me. You want me to lose control, don't you?"

A cold current worked its way up Kyle's spine at these words, at the way Craig's eyes seemed to unfocus as he spoke them; darkening until the pupils and irises seemed to fuse. Now he regretted the alcohol in his blood, how heavy it made his head; warmed his stomach. He'd been foolhardy, had been operating under the misconception that he was still somewhat safe from this man, but he'd never been safe... not from the first minute he'd wandered too close to the web and been ensnared. 

"That doesn't make any sense," he managed, pressing himself back against the couch, already starting to shake. He was alarmed at the warring conflict in Craig's eyes, and realized that he'd come to depend on his strange sort of control over his more primal desires...to see it breaking down was terrifying. He held up his hands in an attempt to placate, to surrender. "Look, calm down, okay? I say stupid shit when I drink. You're right, I had too much and -"

"What's the saying?" Craig cut in, moving slowly toward him, rising from the floor. "A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts? If that's the case, than you're lying right now. You meant everything you said."

"Craig -"

"And that's alright because you're allowed to feel any way you want, but I just thought," he laughed lightly, slightly crazed, running a hand through his hair, "with enough time and enough patience, you'd come to me and then i could stop thinking about..."

He hooked his hands behind his neck and pressed, eyes trained on the floor. He breathed heavily through his nose and out his mouth, like he was trying to stop himself from having a panic attack. 

"You're accepting this," he said lowly, "I've seen the signs, we both have." He looked up, catching Kyle's focus; demeanor taking on a brittle, nearly tormented quality. "Why do you have to be so beautiful? I know it sounds stupid but it's true, Kyle. You're so close and there are moments when I almost feel like I have you, then -"

"I'm not the same kid you saw standing out in the rain that day," Kyle murmured, silently giving in when Craig knelt to hold him close, surprised at the frenzied thud of his heart between them. He closed his eyes and dreamed himself far away, thinking of that long ago day when he'd waited for Stan, red umbrella clutched in his hand. "That's the person you want and I'm not him anymore."

Craig kissed Kyle's throat, seeking out his pulse and finding it; ignoring the way the other gasped and whimpered, pliant in his arms as fingers curled in his shirt. "I love you, just you," he said, kissing again. 

Kyle, tired and confused from alcohol and fear, turned his head, too warm and overwhelmed to fight. An involuntary moan escaped his mouth when Craig nipped him, making him sob into his fist. 

"No," he whispered, "no, no, no..."

It was like breaching the surface of an icy sea when Kyle felt the vibrations rumbling in Craig's pocket, his mind sluggish and neck aching with what could almost be considered a pleasant warmth. Through his tears, he watched Craig drag out his phone, breath catching to see stan's name on the display. He shook his head as the phone kept shaking, on and on until it finally stopped. A few minutes later, a notification for a new voicemail popped up. 

"You need to listen to it," Craig said, holding Kyle tighter when his body slackened. "You have to face whatever you're running from with him, Kyle. It's destroying you."

"I can't," Kyle replied, dullness overtaking him because he knew that Craig was right, and he hated it... hated that he was speaking logically, hated that he was wrapped in his arms and listening to it -

Hated that he was almost thankful for his warmth and strength propping him up when he simply wanted to fall apart. 

"Usually I wouldn't force this on you," Craig said, ignoring Kyle's incredulous look, "but I think it's for the best, even if you don't want to see it. Here." Soon enough, he'd opened up Kyle's voicemail and his finger was hovering over the most recent message. He glanced at Kyle, eyebrows raised, and waited; mouth tight. "Ready?"

"I don't want you to listen," Kyle murmured, reaching for the phone himself, almost expecting it to burn him. Breath shuddering, he lifted it to his ear and -

That _voice_. It was like a spell settling over him, an enchantment that had the power to wake him up and put him into a deep sleep simultaneously; husky, kind... stars and fire and rain falling all at once. It was the sound of childhood calling, echoing through the long corridors of so many years, and with its impossible beauty came the pain he'd been trying to avoid since he'd seen Stan at the reunion. 

_"Kyle, hey... sorry to bother you again. I know you're busy but I haven't heard from you, and I'm starting to worry." There was a pause, and then, "okay, I was already worried, but I need to talk to you... wendy had the baby and things are crazy right now. I wanted to know if you could come visit... but, just call me back, okay? Please?"_

"Had the baby," Kyle whispered, dropping the phone but really wanting to crush it. "Of course she did. They finally have what they always wanted."

"Kyle?" Craig asked, looking into his face, eyes searching. He stroked some curls from his forehead, hand lingering to cup Kyle's cheek. "What are you talking about?"

"She was so beautiful and I guess it was because of that," Kyle replied, a tear slipping down his cheek. It felt cold and he didn't move to brush it away. Instead, he savagely pushed Craig away, managing to break his hold so he could stand on partially numb, weak legs. "She glowed," he added, remembering wendy in her black cocktail dress; dark hair running down her back like rich coffee being spilled. She had pearls around her throat, accentuating delicate, pale skin, and the way she'd clutched at Stan's arm as they'd entered the room -

It was like time had stood still in that moment, and Kyle had watched them, suffering and asking himself over and over why he'd come to the reunion in the first place. And then it hit him, why the agony was worth it, to see Stan's face and that brief glow illuminating his eyes when they fell on Kyle again after so long....

The cuts in his heart had stopped throbbing for a moment, had become bearable. Kyle had tried not to hold stan too tightly when they'd hugged, but he was afraid he'd still been obvious when Stan had pulled back; look guarded, even though he'd smiled so brightly. It had been scary how easily they'd fallen into their old roles, joking and ripping on each other, but they'd kept to easy topics, not delving too deeply, until Stan had proudly announced their impending arrival. 

He'd put a possessive arm around his wife's waist as he spoke, had kissed her temple, and that's when Kyle's cocktail had accidentally tipped over; saturating the tablecloth and almost, almost ruining Wendy's white clutch.

Now Kyle didn't feel present when he began removing his clothes, first clumsily stripping off his jeans, and then his shirt, standing shivering in the winds carrying through the open balcony doors. They ruffled his hair, almost reviving him, but he couldn't say that he was truly in that room at the moment. He was flying elsewhere, fueled by inebriation and sorrow, his inability to just let go of what could've been... but now he was starting to understand that what could've been probably never existed outside of his fantasies. He'd been a fool for so long, had become a slave to living in the past, trapped in his feelings, that he truly had no idea how to be any other way. 

"Kyle?" Craig's voice swam to him through the haze and glitter, and he looked at him without really seeing him; taking in more the sum of his parts rather than his whole likeness. He was familiar in a way that hurt but was almost welcome; dark hair, angular face...lanky but strong. 

Kyle swallowed down the unexpected moisture in his mouth, a finger resting on his collar. "Please take this off so I can shower. I won't do anything, I just...I need the distraction right now."

"Of course," he replied, standing and unlocking the collar without protest, though he kept a hand on the small of Kyle's back as they retreated to the bathroom. Soon the water was rushing hot and sending billowing steam into the air, and Kyle was just standing under the spray and staring into space. 

He wanted to burn away, to slip down the drain and become lost; carried to sea. He didn't know why the pain was so much, it wasn't like he didn't know what was going to happen....

But it brought back so much, and he started to cry into his hands when he felt fingers sliding over his back and down to his hips, gripping wetly and pulling him close. The heat of the water caught on Craig's scent and it rose in a cloud around them, and Kyle found himself sobbing against his chest, slick and smooth under his cheek. 

"Talk to me," he murmured against Kyle's hair, "please, baby. Just tell me what's hurting you so much and I'll try to help. Won't you let me?"

He was gentle when he eased them backward, settling on the shower seat and pulling Kyle onto his lap. Kyle, lax and so tired, curled against him, unbothered and almost oblivious to Craig's nakedness... scared that it almost felt natural in his current state of mind, stripped down and radiating a pathetic, reckless need. 

"He didn't lie when he told me he loved me," he said, the confession burning his mouth, "I know he meant it at the time."

"Oh?" Craig asked, stroking Kyle's back. 

"I thought he and wendy had broken up, at least it seemed that way," Kyle continued, "I mean, he didn't say it in so many words, but suddenly he had more time to spend with me, and -"

He paused, tumbling into the memories, and when he spoke next it was quick because he didn't know how long he could last thinking about it. 

"I'd never been with anyone before. I knew he'd slept with wendy, that was a given, but he'd never had sex with a guy." He chewed his lip until it bled. "We went camping in the woods close to his father's farm, and it was like old times... we built a fire and got fucked up on weed and he stole some beer from the garage. We were talking like before, and for once it wasn't about wendy... it was just us, and I was so happy that I almost felt sick."

Laughing, he pressed a hand to his mouth, biting until Craig gently pulled it away, kissing the teeth marks. 

"But then he was crying and i didn't understand why, and instead of telling me he started to kiss me, and i let him because it's all i wanted; him holding me like that, like i was all he needed, and...i said i loved him, just him..."

Kyle could see the fire converging with the sky, stars overtaken between breaks in inky, swaying trees, and he could remember the way stan had tasted, smoky sweet and boyish; tongues swirling as they hungrily clung together. 

"He kept asking if I was sure, and I told him I was because I had dreamed of that moment for so long, giving myself to him." Closing his eyes, Kyle could envision the darkness of the tent, being laid down against his sleeping bag but still feeling the hard ground just beneath it; rocks digging into his back. He hadn't cared. "It hurt, but he kissed me through it, and even though it wasn't how I thought it would be... it was still more than I ever could've hoped for. We didn't know what the hell we were doing, but the way he held me afterward..."

Shifting in Craig's lap, Kyle was aware of an odd pull in his belly, remembering, ghostly fingers drifting over his thighs when he'd spread them for Stan, gladly doing it but blushing to be so exposed. He stared at the droplets racing down the shower glass, and the agony flooded in to kill the memory of his desire. 

"I fell asleep in his arms, after he told me he loved me, but when we woke up the next morning, things were different." He ducked his head, tucking his face into the curve of Craig's shoulder. 

Craig kept languidly stroking him, not making demands. Finally, Kyle spoke, voice weak and almost lost in the water falling. 

"He said he made a mistake, and that he'd been upset because Wendy had been pregnant but... but she'd lost the baby, and Stan didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to deal with it, so..."

"He turned to you," Craig finished, his tone lacking judgment. "Because he knew you'd be there, just like always."

Frantically, Kyle shook his head, sliding his arms around Craig's neck and holding tightly without even thinking about it. 

"He told me that he'd been there when it happened, or started to happen, anyway. That there was so much blood and he hadn't been able to help her... my heart broke for him, because I knew he would've been scared, but he would've loved that baby. He always wanted to take care of everyone -"

"Who was taking care of you, though?" Craig asked quietly. 

"I made my decision," Kyle whispered, "I could've told him no. God, i should've known, but -"

"Love clouds our judgment, doesn't it?" Craig asked, allowing himself to be held closer, nails lightly dragging up Kyle's backbone. 

"Now they've had another baby," Kyle sobbed brokenly, "and Stan wants me to be the godfather, and I don't know if I can. He wants me to visit, and it's almost like he forgot what happened, but he couldn't have, right? I never have...I never could."

Pulling back, he desperately searched for answers in Craig's face, his careful, watchful eyes. What he saw there only made him sob harder, and he pressed his face against his chest, crying like his heart was breaking all over again, which was probably the case, if the hateful, stabbing pain was any indication. 

"Shhh, I'm here," Craig murmured, beginning to rock him slowly. "Take as long as you need... I'll still be right here, Kyle."

Unable to speak, Kyle clung to him, knowing hazily that this was profoundly wrong, but helpless to stop the hurt rising until it felt like it might break him. All he could do was cry in Craig's arms, drifting through memories that tore him open... fires blazing, silent stars, and Stan's voice in the darkest part of his mind, whispering that he loved him... that he would always love him, forever. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings
> 
> This is the closest I'll come to fluff in the context of this story. I mean, I think this is fluff, I'm not sure; I'm really not a good judge of these things... if anyone can enlighten me it'd be very much appreciated, lol. I just figured Kyle needed a break, such as it is. xD
> 
> Thank you for the wonderful comments on the last chapter... they made me puff up with happiness; made me want to continue. They bolster my confidence when I falter, and I'll respond to all of them soon!!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!!! <3

_**And if you ask me where I’m gonna be tonight** _   
_ **Ask me if I’m gonna be alright, ** _

_ **I’ll be crying out your name** _   
_ **Drink through all this pain tonight** _   
_ **I don’t even wanna fight** _   
_ **I know when the battle’s lost** _

_ **\- Loreen, Crying Out Your Name ** _

* * *

Kyle couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up feeling so raw. 

He hadn't dreamed, and when he opened his eyes to the dim shadows of early morning, he had no idea where he was. His whole body clenched, stomach, thighs... hands taking a hold of his chains until his knuckles whitened, throbbing head lifting slightly from the pillow. 

Disorientation was swift, aches radiating behind his temples, nausea in the back of his throat; mouth sour with the taste of old alcohol. He hurt like he'd been beaten, even the weight of his tshirt feeling like too much sensation, skin overly sensitive; warm like a new, spreading bruise. He whimpered lowly, the sound lost to the quiet, and that's when he realized he was alone. 

He was alone and he had a pretty nasty hangover brewing. 

What's more, after his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, he saw that he was back in his room... in his own bed with the fancy sheets his mother had bought him (Egyptian cotton with a 500 thread count, not that he gave a damn about stuff like that), under his familiar fuzzy blanket that was nearly worn through in some places. 

On his nightstand, instead of the golden alarm clock, was his cheap IKEA lamp and his clock radio, red digits flashing 8:16 am. 

Craig was nearly psychotic about waking him up at 8 am every day, without fail, and yet -

There was a rustle of footsteps in the hall and then Craig was there, walking through the door; already dressed in jeans and a black tshirt. Kyle's stomach clenched harder as he huddled under the covers; rigid, his body aching all the way to his bones. 

Craig, though, was dusky-eyed and gentle as he looked at Kyle, sitting beside him and running cool fingers down the curve of his jaw. He smiled, the skin next to his eyes crinkling as he held up a small, simple wildflower; white with wispy petals. 

"For you," he murmured, laying it on the nightstand before unlocking Kyle's cuffs. "I was up early so I went to the store... picked that on my way back inside."

Withdrawing so that he was completely covered, Kyle's voice was small and muffled when he answered.

"It's past 8:00."

Craig, almost seeming amused, glanced over at the clock before turning back. 

"So it is." Tugging one of Kyle's curls softly, he gestured to the blanket. "Hands up, okay? I want to check your wrists. I've been neglectful lately."

Without protest, Kyle presented his hands, wincing lightly when Craig inspected his arms, touch careful while turning them over. 

"Good, no new cuts... barely any bruises," he said, pressing a kiss to the tender skin on the underside of Kyle's left arm. He gazed at him, his expression sleepy but warm. "You aren't pulling the way you used to... you're starting to relax. Isn't that nice?"

"Maybe we can stop using them," Kyle replied, gesturing to the chains. "Or is that asking too much?"

"We can negotiate," Craig smiled, leaning to nuzzle Kyle's cheek. "I'm surprised you haven't mentioned the elephant in the room, by the way. Very surprised."

Stiffening, Kyle turned his face away to look out the windows, the colors of morning slow-bleeding across the sky; baby blue, buttery yellow, a faint, dreamy pink. His blood sang in his ears, pushed along by a rapid pulse; warmth from his quiet humiliation blooming in his cheeks. 

"Do we have to talk about that right away?" he asked softly. "I got drunk and I said too much, okay? I never should've -"

"No, no, not that," Craig interrupted, dropping his face so he was breathing warmly against Kyle's throat. "I wouldn't bring that up so suddenly... what you told me is worthy of an entire conversation when we're both fully awake. No," he added, lips still pressed to Kyle's neck, "haven't you noticed anything missing?" 

He wasn't in the mood for guessing games, not when his gut was roiling and his headache was becoming a monster clawing at him, but Kyle had a feeling Craig wasn't going to let this go until he got an answer. He pretended to ruminate, which was difficult when Craig was all but attacking his neck, lips close to the small curve leading into his shoulder. That's when it hit him. 

"The collar," he said, reaching to grasp at it, but his fingers only encountered bare skin. "You didn't put it back on, but..." he shook his head, "I don't understand."

"It all comes down to trust, Kyle," Craig said, kissing him once more before drawing back. "You opened up to me last night, which is all I've wanted since this started, and," he shrugged, "I wanted to reciprocate." He frowned, eyes darkening slightly. "I thought it would make you happy."

His tone wasn't exactly threatening but it bordered on becoming displeased, causing Kyle to sit up quickly, the blanket pooling around him as the morning chill beaded across his skin like water. 

"Yes, of course it makes me happy," he gushed, quavery and speaking in a near- whisper, disbelieving but euphoric. "I'm thrilled, but I just didn't expect it so suddenly. We... we didn't even talk about it."

"I made my decision based on your actions," Craig said, watching him closely before he relaxed. Stroking Kyle's knees, he made him gasp when his fingers dug in, hard and demanding his attention. "The same rules apply, though. No yelling or talking loudly, you aren't to go near the front door or the balcony unless I'm present. Likewise, anything I view as a wrong step will be corrected and the collar goes back on. Is that clear?"

Kyle nodded, amazed at how light he felt without the hindrance of that horrible, cold metal digging into his flesh. He was so happy that he almost felt delirious, not paying much attention to Craig's instructions until his chin was being squeezed; Craig's face very close to his own. 

"I want to hear your words," Craig said, holding his jaw tightly. "I want to know that you understand, that there aren't any misconceptions here."

"Y-yes, I understand," Kyle said, hands twisting in his tshirt, Craig's eyes flicking to take in the entirety of his expression. Licking his teeth, he found his mouth to be unbearably dry. "And t-thank you. Really, this... it means a lot."

"You deserve it," Craig said, leaning his forehead against Kyle's for a moment before slowly moving away, knuckles caressing his cheek. He let go, albeit with obvious reluctance. "You had a hard day yesterday, didn't you?"

Grateful though he was, Kyle was still unable to explore this topic. Not yet. Before he could bite his tongue, his natural petulance reared its head. 

"I don't want to talk about this so just leave it alone, okay?" Softening, he backed down somewhat, not because he wanted to, but because he knew privileges could be revoked as easily as they were given, and it was best not to push his luck where Craig was concerned. "Please? I already feel like I said too much."

"I can respect that," Craig said, nodding. "I'm just glad you were finally able to open up, but I don't want to force you to talk... when you're ready, I'm ready, too." Standing, he brushed Kyle's throat with his fingertips one last time, lightly, but sending a clear message. 

_I'm giving you a chance. Don't screw it up._

"I thought we could make today all about you," he said, switching gears; rubbing his hands together. "What do you think?"

Kyle blinked, already overwhelmed by his collar-less state, so he was slow to understand. He chewed his tongue, trying to catch up... wondering if he was being baited or if this suggestion was genuine. Helpless, he watched Craig and waited, hands still balled tightly in his shirt. 

Softly, Craig smiled, ever indulgent and exuding that fatherly patience Kyle could never quite reconcile himself with. 

"Pull yourself together," he said, turning away, "and when you're ready, join me in the kitchen. I'll make breakfast."

"What?" Kyle asked, effectively pulled from his daze. "But -"

"And you can wear whatever you want," Craig added, gesturing toward the closet. "Oh, and I took the liberty of setting out some ibuprofen and juice on the side table there. I'm sure you have a headache, right?"

Wordlessly, Kyle nodded, glancing over to see the glass and pills on the other side of the lamp. When he looked back, Craig was already taking his leave. Briefly, he stopped to glance over his shoulder. 

"Let's just have a nice day together, okay?" 

Swallowing, Kyle nodded again, Craig's true meaning not lost on him, even as he found himself envisioning the layout of the condo... the hallway from his bedroom running right by the kitchen, and the front door just beyond. He'd never make it, surely, but perhaps the balcony... that was just off the living room, in view of the kitchen, but...

Or he could just open up and scream. What was stopping him now? He was opening his mouth to do just that when he remembered Craig's gun, cold chills racing up his back that left him trembling, eyes falling on the flower that had been left behind. Impulsively, Kyle reached out and plucked it up, bringing it to his face so he could take in its aroma, faint and sweet. 

It almost made him want to cry, the tug inside of him, abject fear and the longing to run, mixed together until his mind could barely hold onto his thoughts; becoming a sieve. Mechanically, he glanced at the juice and pills and found himself taking them, the cool liquid soothing his throat as it trickled downward. When he was done, he gently laid the flower aside, propped up against the clock, now flashing 8:47.

The water swirled around the drain hypnotically as Kyle stared, blanking out now and then as his head and body pulsed, hoping the pain relievers would kick in quickly. He hadn't necessarily needed a shower, having been thoroughly washed by Craig the night before, the sponge being pulled across his skin as he silently continued to cry. 

No, he was taking a shower because he'd been given the freedom to do it alone, without being watched, but now it wasn't turning out the way he'd hoped. His thoughts were too loud, and he kept glancing at the bench where Craig had held him, where he'd poured out the shreds of his broken heart. His words came back to haunt him along with the memories, Stan breathing hot against his skin when he'd first pushed into him, Craig's moist fingers stroking the curve of his back, the bumps of his spine....

They wound together, becoming one, turning into nothing and vapor before exploding in color; Kyle clutching at his head and breathing in deep, ragged gasps. Through it all, he tortured himself with guesses about what Stan and Wendy's child looked like... what was its name, was it a boy or a girl? Did they have Stan's pretty blue eyes?

He poked his own throbbing wounds relentlessly, adding liberal amounts of salt until he ached, and it was almost like his brain cracked and he could go no further with the pain; drifting away until he looked around the shower, familiar and comforting, wanting to pretend himself into another existence, a different, more bearable frame of mind. 

"It's just another day," he whispered, relieved that Craig wouldn't be able to hear him talking to himself over the rush of the water, "just a regular morning, and I'm getting ready to go to work. That's all this is."

It was almost like a veil was dropped over his brain in that moment, wrapping everything in gauze. Smiling now, he hummed as he washed, first his hair, then his body, hand lingering close to his privates and remembering... head tipped back as he carefully stroked himself, swallowing his shame and willing himself to become the person he used to be. 

Before, in his old life, the real one, he would've thought of truly filthy things during times like this, keeping his emotions out of the equation when he wanted to get off; one night stands, being held down by rough hands, his hair pulled while he gasped, but now all he could see and feel were the things that were working to destroy him. Soon, he gave up the fight, frustrated as he slid down the tiled wall to sit on the floor. Frantically, he tried to redirect his thoughts, going back in time but finding it hard to recall what had used to come so naturally. 

"I'll meet with a client when I get to the office, and I can't forget about that lunch meeting," he said, rubbing his temples, "and after, when I get out, I have a date... no one important, but he seems nice. We'll go to the bar -"

"Kyle?"

Freezing, Kyle pressed a hand over his mouth, looking up to see Craig's wavery form silhouetted behind the heat-fogged glass. Burning with humiliation, he prayed that Craig hadn't heard him slipping into his pathetic, sloppy brand of sheer insanity. Pushing himself into the corner, Kyle wrapped his arms around his legs, waiting for Craig to push open the shower door to check on him. 

"Kyle? Are you okay?" Craig spoke again, not making a move to come closer. "You were taking a while so I just wanted to check."

Kyle's hands passed over his unadorned neck before he spoke, careful.

"I'm fine, just thinking. I'll be out soon."

"Okay, breakfast's almost ready... and I set out some of your stuff on the counter here." A pause, filled with the water cascading. "You sure you're okay?"

Reaching up, Kyle shut off the water and stood, leaning against the slick bench. 

"I promise, I'm fine," he called. 

Relatively speaking, of course. 

"Fine," Craig said, not exactly sounding convinced but reasonably placated all the same. "Just let me know if you need anything."

Wordlessly, Kyle waited for him to leave, only stepping out once he was sure he was alone; humidity clinging to his skin. Craig had switched on the fan, but the mirror was still fogged. Without drying himself, Kyle went to the counter and studied it, his toiletries from Craig's home all laid out and waiting for him: toothbrush and toothpaste, brush, a small bottle of lotion to rub on the scars littering his wrists. 

Anything that could be considered "contraband" had been cleared away, of course; any remnants of his prior existence completely gone; razor, aftershave, cologne. He supposed it was just as well, but he'd make do regardless. 

"Just another day," he repeated, determined to control his nasty, invasive thoughts. Clearing the steam off of the mirror, he went about readying himself, pointedly ignoring how thin he was now, the bruises left behind by the collar, dark violet and blue... he overlooked it all, somehow talking himself into mentally preparing for the day ahead... hours filled with clients and responsibilities and endless, boring meetings. 

\----

He managed to keep the fantasy going even when he arrived in the kitchen not too long after, hair still moist and annoying him because it hadn't been cut in so long. Before, he'd had regular trims, every six weeks or so. Now his curls brushed his shirt collar, distracting him. 

Craig, who'd stationed himself so he could see both the balcony door and the hallway leading to the front foyer, looked up from a steaming pan of eggs; smiling warmly, though it faltered slightly when he saw Kyle. He gestured toward the balcony with a spatula. 

"I thought we could eat outside... it being such a nice morning and all."

Kyle glanced outside, eyebrows lifting at the sight of a nicely set table, complete with more fluttering white wildflowers in a small vase he hadn't seen in ages. He hadn't expected all of this, deflating when his reality threatened to shatter his burgeoning delusions, though he attempted to hold onto what he could. Looking back at Craig, he tried to turn him into someone completely different in his mind...a date that had stayed over, a veritable stranger that Kyle could dismiss whenever he wanted. Relaxing somewhat, he gave Craig a slow smile. 

"Sounds great. Can I help at all?"

The morning was indeed nice, warm winds smelling of spring and growing grass wafting to Kyle as he basked in the sunshine, only vaguely alarmed that he had no idea what day it was... much less the month, mainly because he'd learned that neither truly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Still, he clung to the illusions in his head while watching the light strike the water, its glimmering brilliance dazzling him, encouraging his detachment. 

He'd helped bring the food to the table, fruit and bagels and two tall glasses filled with orange juice. Craig had brought the platter of eggs and turkey bacon, carefully apologetic when Kyle took his first bite. 

"It isn't as good as yours probably, but I tried."

Kyle, who wasn't overly hungry to begin with, gave him a fleeting glance before looking back at the green waves, water taxis puttering across the way, carrying their patrons to unknown destinations. He took another small bite of the eggs. 

"They're good," he said, not really caring either way but it seemed important to Craig. He could play along if need be... what difference did it make? Lifting his glass of orange juice, he sipped, momentarily taken aback at its strange, almost golden flavor; unexpected bubbles tickling his nose. 

Craig laughed softly, clearly delighted at Kyle's reaction. 

"Leftover champagne," he said, lifting a plump grape to his mouth. "Only a little... there's nothing wrong with indulging in the hair of the dog, right?"

"You play fast and loose with controlling my overindulgence," Kyle said mildly, knocking back the mimosa with careless, relaxed abandon. 

"Today is your day," Craig said simply. He looked out at the water too before studying Kyle again. "I'm glad you're getting some sun, by the way... it's good for you."

Kyle didn't reply, opting to nearly polish off his drink instead. Craig was talking his sentimental nonsense again, anyway; best to just let him get it out of his system. 

"Did you want to go somewhere today?" Craig prodded gently. "Name a place and I'll take you there, I promise." He paused, no doubt rethinking the open-ended nature of his words. "Within reason, of course."

"Of course," Kyle muttered, still determined to fly above this, but Craig was making it almost impossible. Curling into himself, he shrugged, hardly able to think of a place he'd want to go that Craig would accept.

Craig cleared his throat, the sound almost uneasy. "A haircut, perhaps?"

Kyle looked at him sharply, his face no doubt radiating suspicion because Craig quickly put up his hands, placating. 

"Believe me, I'd see to it myself if I had the skill, but I wouldn't even know where to start, and I'd never forgive myself if I screwed it up."

Kyle snorted, a hand working its way through his hair, unruly and genuinely bothering him, but still...

In his peripheral, the delicate flowers fluttered in breezes drenched with the scent of salt and the freshness of morning, and he was brought solidly back to the present, his mind unable to keep up with the farce of pretend... all because Craig had thought to fill an old vase with unwanted, unasked for blooms. Eyes burning, Kyle covered his face, once again undone by his own overpowering weakness. 

"Fine," he whispered, mouth sweet with mimosa. "A haircut, then."

Silence descended, stretching until Kyle glanced at Craig, nerves plucked. He rubbed at his bare throat, agitated... after all, wasn't Craig still calling the shots even without the fucking collar hanging like a weight from Kyle's neck? What more did he want here?

"What?" he snapped. 

Delicately, Craig wiped at his mouth before responding, voice careful, as were his words. "I'm not trying to criticize, but your clothes..."

Looking down, Kyle spread his arms to better see himself. Having taken Craig at his word, he'd chosen clothing from his old closet, a white button down and soft grey slacks, some of the nicer things he'd purchased in the past. It felt surreal to be wearing them, having become accustomed to wearing the clothing Craig preferred, but he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. 

"What about them?" he asked, angry that Craig didn't even need to specify his displeasure in order to make Kyle doubt his choices. "You said I could wear whatever I wanted, not that I should have to get your permission in the first place."

"While I don't prefer seeing you in business attire," Craig said, unruffled by Kyle's attitude, "that isn't the issue here." Taking up his bagel, he considered it before he answered. "Haven't you noticed that those clothes don't fit you anymore?"

Pushing back from the table, Kyle was appalled when he felt the burn igniting in his cheeks, horrified that Craig's comment truly bothered him... almost hurt that he'd also noticed what Kyle was trying so hard to ignore. Craig watched his reaction without malice or pleasure at Kyle's discomfort, his expression giving away his usual concern, which only made everything worse. 

Hanging his head, Kyle fiddled with the expensive belt that used to fit his waist with ease, but was now far too large. So large, in fact, that Kyle had had to create a new hole in the leather in order to use it. The slacks hung baggy from his hips, no longer sleek, and his shirt sagged where before it had comfortably and attractively clung to the correct places; accentuating his slim musculature. 

Now his clothing made him look like he'd raided his father's closet, playing at pretend and wanting to look like an adult without actually being one. This thought made him blush harder, hand straying to his throat out of habit but once again finding nothing there. 

Blinking, he felt disoriented, but he tried to maintain his controlled defiance, his deep- dwelling fire that he hoped could endure, pushing him to keep going even as he lost everything along the way. 

"I think they look fine," he said tightly. 

"I didn't say they looked bad," Craig replied smoothly, "I was just afraid that they would bother you while we were out... having to be readjusted and all." He paused, voice darkening, "if you'd only eat what I -"

"I can't listen to this again," Kyle cut him off, standing and rubbing his head, a faint throb moving through his skull. "I don't want to be lectured today, I'll just change. Satisfied?"

"Kyle, I didn't -"

"I'll be back," he said abruptly, not wanting to hear more, because Craig had already said enough; waking up Kyle's paranoia like prodding a sleeping animal with a stick. 

Not long after, Kyle was dressed in some of the clothes Craig had packed for him, having gone through his old things and realizing they were all too large or just not right. By the end of his fruitless searching he'd merely thrown his hands up, deciding it was all too much trouble anyway. Besides, he assured himself, there was nothing wrong with comfortable jeans and a plain white tshirt, the thin material allowing the warm breezes to brush his skin when they made their way outside. 

Craig, for his part, had remained silent about the change, only reminding Kyle to behave during their outing and to appreciate his newfound freedom as the favor it was. 

"Let's just relax and have fun, huh?" he smiled, patting a lump under his zipped up hoodie, the action making Kyle stumble, mouth dry, but he didn't say anything. 

Rather, he behaved, playing his part dutifully and, as the day progressed, with actual enthusiasm, even if the crowds and noises proved overwhelming; he adjusted himself enough for the experience to become somewhat pleasurable. The weather was fresh, the water was smooth, and the collar was gone - it was okay to relax at least a little, right?

The first stop was the barber shop, not Kyle's usual spot but serviceable enough.   
It wasn't hectic and was reasonably quiet; uncrowded. The air was spicy and Kyle hung back while Craig did the talking, eyes trained on the floor tiles, swept clean and a burnished tan. 

"He needs a trim," Craig said, lifting Kyle's curls from his nape. "We've been lax about regular cuts, I guess... but better late than never. Right?" With a gentle tug, he glanced at Kyle expectantly. 

Kyle nodded, admiring the way the sunlight splashed the floor, catching flecks of subtle gold. He pointedly ignored the weight of the barber's eyes, transporting himself to a place where this was all normal and healthy, becoming just another patron that needed a haircut, no more, no less. 

Soon he was in the barber's chair, thankful that the smock wrapped around him covered the bruises on his throat, even more grateful that the barber didn't insist on making small talk. Craig took over anyway, as always, directing and fretting when it seemed like the barber was cutting Kyle's hair too short. 

"We want it to look neat," he insisted, studying Kyle in the mirror, "but don't take too much off, please."

Kyle, who'd been looking anywhere but at his reflection, caught the barber's eye for a moment before shrugging. It had occurred to him to say something, to point out the fact that he was Craig's prisoner, but the words wouldn't come, nor did the energy to speak them aloud. Instead, he retreated into his head as red curls fell in cascades, littering his shoulders and the floor respectively. 

Afterward, they ate ice cream cones while dangling their legs over the water, perched on the edge of the harbor. The cold sweetness crept over Kyle's tongue, helping him ignore the way Craig fussed over him; fingers combing his newly shorn head. He allowed the sounds of the world to wash over him, people talking, yelling... cars honking and engines revving, and through it all the water sloshing while the boats cut their wakes across the velvety green. 

"I think he did okay," Craig said, though he didn't seem entirely convinced. "He still cut more than I would've liked. I'm sorry."

Kyle responded by taking a big lick of his cone, chocolate gelato from the Rita's stand. Behind them, a street performer with a guitar started singing an old folk song that Kyle couldn't recall right away. He began to sway to the music, sugar on his tongue and the wonderful sunshine on his shoulders, so real and all for him. 

"You don't care at all, do you?" Craig asked, almost reproachful but Kyle could hear the laughter he was suppressing. "He could've shaved your head and you wouldn't have said a word, I bet."

"Not a word," Kyle replied flippantly, wanting to be carefree, as unrestrained as his neck and the light burning in the big blue sky. "What's the big deal? Hair grows back... that's all it does."

The sugar and Kyle's easygoing attitude seemed to sweeten the rest of the day, and soon it was early afternoon, the soft winds resplendent with music. He felt almost giddy, free from his chains and the lonely cottage by the sea, released back into the wild at least for awhile. True, Craig was beside him, but he was indulgent so long as Kyle didn't stray too far. There was power to be found in that. 

They strolled and looked in shops that Kyle had ignored before, having viewed them as a waste of time; trashy tourist attractions, but now they held a certain appeal. Everything did, because it was different, a breath of fresh, needed air. Kyle stayed close most of the time, especially when he started feeling too much, finding himself clutching Craig's arm at strange moments; a mindless little gesture that scared him but he didn't dwell. 

As the day unfolded, Kyle became Craig's living doll, emptying his head and merely going with the flow of things. He told himself to have fun and he did, so long as he didn't think too hard about what all of this entailed. 

The shadows had lengthened and the air had developed a faint chill by the time Craig suggested they have an early dinner, glancing around with the wind unsettling his hair. 

"What about that place?" he asked, pointing to a restaurant next to the water; right up the street from Kyle's condo. 

Kyle, who'd been watching a family of ducks gliding through the darkening bay looked up, an eyebrow cocked at Craig's suggestion. 

"The Rusty Scupper?"

"Yeah, is it any good?"

Kyle shrugged and looked back at the water, delighted to see a stern-looking crab wandering along the rocks; little face pinched. It kind of looked like Craig when he was in a bad mood. 

"It's decent, I guess," he eventually replied, giggling behind his hand at the crab's awkward scuttling. "It's kind of expensive, though."

"You don't think you're worth a nice meal?" Craig teased, walking over and stroking Kyle's hair. 

"I didn't say that," Kyle muttered, not giving into the urge to snap at the offending hand; aware that, more and more, he didn't respond at all to Craig's overtures. Shivering, the dying bloody sunlight fell over them but it didn't provide any true warmth. "I was just letting you know...I don't care where we go, honestly."

Their server was young and obviously inexperienced, but her enthusiasm was ingratiating. She was attentive nearly to a fault, especially when she mentioned the bruises on Kyle's neck; face filled with genuine concern. 

"Oh, hon," she winced, placing Kyle's wine glass on the table and leaning forward a fraction. "Are you okay? Those look like they hurt." Apologetically, she pointed to her own throat when Kyle seemed puzzled. 

Her innocent question was like little hooks sinking into his skin and yanking him back to the realities he'd been carefully overlooking. True, he'd felt strangers looking at the bruises throughout the day but they'd been too polite to say anything, but now he wasn't allowed to pretend they weren't there. 

Kyle looked to Craig, who didn't appear angry so much as annoyed, gently setting down his ginger ale and sitting back, making more obvious the bulge under his hoodie. He flicked his eyes to Kyle without turning his head, mouth flattening into a straight line. He remained silent. 

Having expected him to take control, as he always did, Kyle felt unprepared and set adrift when answering for himself fell in his lap. Floundering, he nervously touched his neck, answers bunching up on his tongue.

"I'm sorry," the server quickly said, no doubt feeling the shift in the air; the new tension. She backtracked. "That's none of my business, right? I shouldn't have -"

"We'll need a few minutes to figure out what we want," Craig interjected, holding up his menu. "Thanks."

"Oh, right. Of course," she replied, reddening until Kyle felt sorry for her; so painfully young and not knowing any better. "I'll be back, okay? Please let me know if you need anything."

There was quiet after she left, and rather than peruse the menu the way Craig was, Kyle looked around, admiring the shifting candlelight in the glass holder on the edge of the table; the way the stars were settling into their places for the night. The sky was soft, dark satin over the harbor. 

"That was unspeakably rude," Craig said conversationally, turning a page of his menu. 

"She meant well," Kyle replied, leaning closer to the window to glory in the way the golden lights strung on the clipper ship bounced off the waves. "It's typical for normal people to show concern when it looks like someone's been hurt."

Closing his menu, Craig rubbed his hands together. "I understand that, Kyle, but you're a perfect stranger to her. Regardless of her intentions, her question was forward and inappropriate."

"Then why didn't you tell her to politely fuck off?" Kyle asked lightly, turning from the window to smile widely at him. "You kind of left me hanging there, you know."

Craig smiled back, some of the candlelight catching in his eyes and sparkling on his tumbler when he lifted it to his lips. "I wanted to see what you'd do."

Heart seizing, Kyle managed to keep the smile on his face, but it became fixed and static. Of course Craig would say something like that so casually. No doubt the whole day had been one long test to see how Kyle would perform. He almost laughed. 

"No wonder you didn't make me cover up," he said, reaching for his own glass. 

"You dressed yourself," Craig parried, "you had the option to cover up if you wanted. Makes me wonder why you didn't."

Now Kyle's smile did falter, not wanting to disclose that he'd just wanted to feel normal for the day, free from the collar and anything it'd left behind. As far as he was concerned, the marks weren't there so they hadn't needed to be concealed. 

"What are you going to have?" he redirected, picking up the menu and pretending to study it. 

"Surf and turf. Filet mignon and lobster." Grinning wickedly, Craig's crooked incisor flashed and he looked positively wolfish. "You?"

"Jesus, are you going to the electric chair after this, or what?" Kyle muttered, rather liking that idea. Glancing at the menu, he ran through his choices and found what he ate didn't matter to him. As ever, his appetite was weak and unimportant. He didn't want another lecture about food, though, so he pointed out the first thing that seemed remotely acceptable. "Crab cakes. A delicacy around here."

His dinner proved to be more satisfying than he'd anticipated, even if the cloud of tension hanging over their table made it hard to eat. Craig took ordering under control, not exactly being rude to the server but not being overly friendly either. 

"Can you really blame her for asking?" Kyle said over dessert, a tall wedge of cake with twelve layers that they shared. "Hell, I look like I've been strangled, and you're the reason I look like this in the first place... where do you get off being so high and mighty?"

"It's not a matter of assumed superiority," Craig replied, taking a bite of cake, "her asking was in poor taste. It put you on the spot and I didn't appreciate that." Glancing up, he licked some frosting from the corner of his mouth. "Did you?"

"The bruises only exist because of you." Sliding his fork between his lips, Kyle relished the cake's fluffy, delicate texture. "That's what I don't appreciate."

"That's beside the point."

"It's the whole point," Kyle said smoothly, lifting the fork to his lips. "Would it be rude of me to mention that I'm elated you aren't feeding this to me by hand?"

Pausing, Craig did indeed look slightly miffed before dropping his shoulders, bringing a napkin to his mouth and dabbing. "Yes, although you didn't exactly seem too put off by my presence last night."

Dropping his fork, Kyle had to refrain from lunging across the table or lobbing his glass at Craig's face, but he was disarmed by his companion's expression; melancholy and completely lacking in accusation or ridicule. Nervously tapping the table, he averted his eyes, still wanting to avoid having opened up so profoundly the night before. 

"That shouldn't have happened," he muttered. 

"You were in pain... what's wrong with seeking comfort when you're in pain?"

"Craig," Kyle sighed, the day and this subject in particular settling on him and making him heavy, "don't be myopic, okay? You know why it shouldn't have happened, any of it. Don't make me point out the obvious here, please."

The server timidly approached their table now, clearly wanting to offer the check, but she acted as if Craig was going to reach out and bite her. Full of pity, Kyle smiled and reached out, accepting it. Grateful, she lingered, offering to go boxes, refills -

"We're well enough here," Craig said, essentially dismissing her, though his tone was not unkind. He took the check from Kyle and studied it. 

"You're still going to leave a tip," Kyle said, pushing his cake away; no longer hungry for sweets. 

Craig gave him an impassive look before pulling his card from his wallet and placing it in the book; setting it aside. 

"Of course I'm going to tip. You'd have to push me pretty hard before I withheld my standard 20%."

Kyle shifted, readying to leave and thoroughly done with being out and social. 

"It's weird having you pay for everything, by the way. I still have money, I can cover one outing."

"Oh, you want to pay for one of our dates?" Craig teased, lighting up and ignoring the server as she came to retrieve the bill. 

Blanching, Kyle had a difficult time keeping his voice level when he leaned forward. He looked around, nervous that someone could overhear them. "This isn't a fucking date and you know it."

Craig was infuriating when he smiled now, shrugging and not responding. When the server brought the receipt he tipped 25%, making sure Kyle could see the amount before he closed the book and set it on the edge of the table. 

Their walk back to the condo was hazy and shrouded in darkness, Kyle happy when they passed through snatches of orange streetlight, stifling yawns the whole way. The stars were low-hung and faint when he looked into the sky, welcoming the wind to waft over his face, even if it was tinged with an underlying chill. 

"I kept thinking you'd run," Craig said casually as he undressed down to his boxer briefs after they'd gotten back, readying to bathe after Kyle had declined the suggestion. "I was on edge all day, wondering when it would happen."

Kyle, stripped down to his briefs and white t-shirt, obediently lay back against his pillow and winced to hear the chains grating over his headboard; staring blankly while Craig snapped the cuffs into place. He was thinking of the alleys they'd passed on the way home, how easy it would've been to duck down one and disappear into the night, but he'd also considered what came after...

Where, then, would he run? There was also Craig's gun to consider, the fact that Kyle knew he would use it, if forced to. What if he retaliated against Kyle's loved ones if he ran away?

Or maybe he was just a pathetic coward, becoming accustomed to being a prisoner; accepting and almost embracing the idea. 

"I considered it," he replied, turning to cradle his face beneath his hand. "Who's to say I'm not thinking about it right now?"

Lapsing into quiet, Craig sat beside him and touched Kyle's hair, so much shorter but still long enough to be threaded around long fingers; lovingly, the action full of obvious, painful adoration. Watching, his demeanor took on the softness radiating from the bedside lamp, and before Kyle could take in a deep breath, Craig was leaning forward to kiss his mouth; slowly, tongue slipping between Kyle's lips. 

Detaching, Kyle found himself falling into the mindset he'd assumed earlier in the day, telling himself that this wasn't Craig kissing him, this wasn't Craig moaning his name and pulling him close. The chains weren't around his wrists... no, he was free as a little bird flying high above the world, unfettered, ending the evening wrapped up in the arms of a bewitching stranger. 

_Just another day,_ he thought, closing his eyes and retreating into his mind; floating and looking down over everything, his old room and large bed, the man with the dark hair hungrily kissing him...not really seeing himself in that moment, and perfectly fine with it, at least for awhile. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings (I guess? At least I don't think so)
> 
> This chapter made me tired, but multiple viewings of Hannibal and numerous shots of rum saw me through, lmao. 
> 
> I hope you guys like... we're winding down here so that's fun, huh? Maybe someday I'll write a fic that centers on a healthy, happy relationship but that's doubtful. XD
> 
> Thanks for the comments, guys. *___* they thrill me and I adore them
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!! ❤

"We are never so vulnerable as when we love, and never so hopelessly unhappy as when we lose the object of our love."

"Our beds are crowded."

\-- Sigmund Freud 

**I'm out of my head**   
**Of my heart and my mind**   
**'Cause you can run but you can't hide**   
**I'm gonna make you mine**

**Out of my head**   
**Of my heart and my mind**   
**'Cause I can feel how your flesh now**   
**Is crying out for more**

**SIAMES, The Wolf **

* * *

The next morning, Kyle woke to his chains and Craig snoozing beside him; an arm draped over Kyle's belly. He slept curled up like a sinuous cat, decidedly feline when he stretched and opened his eyes right before the clock flashed 8 am.

The weather was murky, clouds bloated with rain hovering over water that resembled green ice that had recently cracked apart. Kyle shivered as he stood on the balcony, arms wrapped around himself while Craig puttered around the kitchen behind him; coffee brewing and warming the air only slightly. 

Kyle was still collar-less and had been allowed to shower alone again, though he'd opted to wear the clothes Craig chose for him: jeans and a simple thin tshirt. 

"Should we stay in today?" Craig asked, stepping onto the balcony with two mugs; he offered one to Kyle who gratefully took it. 

"It is a little chilly," Kyle replied, sipping. In the distance, he heard the gulls crying their lonely sound, dragging him back to Craig's cottage by the sea. Suddenly he wished he'd put on a coat, shivering in the cold, salted winds. 

"Come inside," Craig instructed, noticing. He placed a hand on Kyle's back and led him into the condo. "It's too cold for you today." Running a hand through Kyle's curls, his touch was a slight thing, almost weightless. "Shorn sheep."

Ducking his head, Kyle moved away like a shadow retreating. "Breakfast, I'll make some. What do you want?"

There were plenty of ingredients to choose from, thanks to Craig's grocery run from the day before. As he mixed the pancake batter, Kyle sipped his coffee and ignored the wildflowers in the vase, the way he felt disturbingly comforted about cooking again. It had been interesting being served yesterday, but he didn't want it made into a habit. He really didn't want to speculate as to why that was either, choosing to simply accept it instead. 

He hummed to himself while cutting fruit - strawberries and bananas - the folk song he'd heard during their outing, still unable to place it. It sounded like sunshine and driving through backroads on a Sunday afternoon; whimsical, wonderful nonsense that made him smile as he sucked juices from his fingers. 

Craig was clearly happy to be served again, tucking into his food with pleasure and watching Kyle with his typical, overbearing affection. Kyle ate a pancake dry with his fingers and focused instead on the raindrops splattering the windows now that the skies had finally opened up their fury. 

"Delicious," he said, not put off by Kyle's intangible distance. He sighed, stabbing a strawberry and studying it. "We should turn this into a vacation, don't you think? Being here and away from it all."

"Is murder the catalyst for most of your getaways?" Kyle asked without really giving the question more thought. It hung heavy in the air between them but he shrugged, placing more pancake in his mouth. 

"Not as a general rule," Craig laughed, unperturbed by Kyle's flippancy. "But I guess that could change, huh?"

"You're proving more and more that you're capable of anything," Kyle replied, touching his throat briefly before turning back to his plate, plucking up a banana slice. It was mellow on his tongue. 

"We could relax the rules, I mean. Before we move on."

"What's next?" Kyle asked. "Where can we even go from here?" He considered this question; death at their backs and the unknown before them. It was daunting, but what did he have to lose or prove now? It was like he was being rewritten; reborn in Craig's image of him. 

"We have our options," Craig said, giving him a strange, inscrutable look. "I have my own idea but you need to be open to it, of course. Anyway," he drank some coffee, "we'll leave that open, but the collar can stay off until we leave. Is that fair?"

"Forgive me if I don't kiss your feet for that small kindness," Kyle tossed back, curling up in his chair with his cheek against his knee. He hid his face when he smiled suddenly, not wanting Craig to see his honest, inappropriate appreciation. 

This is so sick, he thought, a small voice speaking that still rested in the reasoned portions of his tired, muddled brain. So, so sick. 

"Maybe later," Craig said without missing a beat. "It's not like we don't have some time, right?"

He smiled then, his crooked incisor shining white and far too sharp in the grey morning light. 

The rest of the morning and mid-afternoon was spent in relatively comfortable quiet, the rain assaulting the roof and windows while Craig sketched in the living room, a leg crossed and his pad resting on his knee. Kyle cleaned the kitchen meticulously, used to his chores at the cottage, stopping now and then to listen to the icy water trickling. Outside, the waves were high and choppy, the boats rocking violently when the wind picked up. Soon, the room was filled with a dimness usually reserved for late afternoon. 

"I'll go tidy the bedroom," he announced, glancing over Craig's shoulder to see his sketch. He admired it, even if seeing his own likeness rendered in smooth grays still made him feel disconcerted; confusingly unworthy somehow. 

Reaching up, Craig grabbed his hand before he could move away, kissing his palm lightly before stroking his thumb along the curve of Kyle's wrist. "I'll be here."

Kyle had to stifle a laugh at that before pulling away, both from the absurdity of it and the subliminal threat; Craig would always be there, wouldn't he?

The bed linens smelled like them both, Kyle's fearful sweat and the spice from having his hair cut, curling around Craig's dark scent; cologne and wild things growing, the salt of the sea. He was lifting the sheet to strip it off when Kyle was overcome with the need to cry, pressing the fabric to his face to muffle his sobs. Before he could stop himself, he lay down and burrowed into the bedding, wanting, no needing, to hide; from the fledgling light, from his own deep, unbearable shame. On occasion he'd glance at the chains hanging from the headboard and he'd cry harder, helpless to the hurt, the confusion... his mind waking up with nothing to distract it. 

He'd been too honest, he knew, had let Craig in too far; allowing him into rooms of the mind that weren't for him to see. Kyle hadn't even opened those doors in so long and yet... Craig had seen them, and now he believed they shared an intimacy that Kyle could scarcely comprehend. 

Stan's voice was a sweet agonizing rhapsody in his head as Kyle hid in the sheets, and the fire and stars were back, lulling him until he felt hands on his skin, careful and so endearingly inept; so young. Still, they hadn't wanted to hurt him, even as Kyle had whimpered behind his hand when Stan was too eager; drawing back and cradling him to the tune of night winds and crickets chirping their gentle songs in the bushes. 

And when they'd joined it had been as sweet as the winds and the creatures watching in the dark, hadn't it? Kyle had ached, of course, thighs parted and head in his arms, and Stan's little pulses of breath against his nape had been enough assurance that what they were doing was right....

Sighing faintly, Kyle drew the covers over his head as he drifted a hand downward, running over the slope of his thigh, and then fingers were creeping into his briefs, arousal sifting through him like a small wildfire growing. A gasp was warm, quiet like a whisper trapped behind his lips -

"If you wanted to take a cat nap you could've told me," Craig's voice flowed in, breaking the tension in his skin, making Kyle's hand freeze in place, curling around needful, stiffened flesh. "I would've joined you...I didn't sleep too well last night."

The memories broke like a fleeting summer sunset as Kyle was wrapped in Craig's arms under the coverlet, shielded from whatever light was left in the afternoon sky. His jeans were unzipped, making him feel like a needy, filthy slut, unable to keep his hands from himself but he relaxed into the hold; resigned like a cat being pawed by their owner and looking for any opportunity to escape. 

"You don't have to hide like this when you're tired," Craig murmured, words like smoke against Kyle's ear. "It isn't weak to admit you need to lie down in the middle of the day, Kyle."

Kyle merely studied the liquid darkness in front of his eyes, hearing these words in Stan's voice, because he was almost certain he would've been this kind and forgiving back then. But would he have wanted to stretch out with Kyle pressed to his chest during a long afternoon while the rain fell in hypnotic sheets outside? He supposed he'd never know now. 

He gave in, though, attempting to relax into Craig's arms; the darkness behind his eyelids when they closed. Once again, he tried to empty himself, even as a quiet rage was nursed; spurned by the fact that Kyle had made himself vulnerable to the other, had given Craig something to use against him like a weapon. The past, sharpened until it became a blade pressed against his ribs. He sighed, a shuddering, small sound. 

"I thought you wanted to work," he said, easing his hand away from himself; the desire still coiled inside him and stretching his nerves taut like wires. 

"I did, but you were gone for so long...I got distracted." Turning on his side, Craig pulled him closer, Kyle's back pressed to his chest and belly. He laughed softly next to Kyle's ear. "I'm terrible but i thought you might be up to something."

"I was, in a way," Kyle replied, wanting to transform his thoughts into weapons of his own; turned on someone other than himself for a change. 

Craig stiffened, his hand wrapping around Kyle's wrist; tightening slightly. "What do you mean?"

Kyle pressed his eyelids so tightly shut that he saw electric, multicolored stars dancing in the dark. They fanned out, hypnotic. "You can't control my thoughts, Craig...I bet that really bothers you, huh?"

His hold became painful then, but Kyle stayed silent. "I don't want to control your thoughts. Those belong to you." He paused, throat clicking when he swallowed. "What were you thinking about?"

Pulling down the covers, white light struck Kyle's eyes when he opened them. "If you don't control them, which you can't, then why should I share them?"

Suddenly, Kyle found himself on his back, stretched out beneath Craig's weight; arms above his head and wrists held together. Craig was staring at him, mouth grim and eyes fierce. He held a hand at Kyle's throat, pressing on occasion; little pulses. 

"Tell me," he said lowly, pressing again. "You brought it up for a reason."

"Idle talk," Kyle replied, trying to turn his head but groaned when he was held in place. A pressure on his pubis made him whine then, a frantic rush of air passing his lips. He looked down to see Craig toying with the zipper of his still-open jeans.

"I think I can guess what you were thinking about," Craig murmured, flicking the zipper, hand perilously close to something he had no business touching. He caught Kyle's eyes, smirking to see how wide they were. "The real question is who you were thinking about, wouldn't you say?"

Horrified, Kyle became aware that the heat between his thighs, his arousal, wasn't abating, even with Craig so close. He could've cried, scrambling to cross his legs, but he was pressed to the mattress; held still like a butterfly pinned behind glass. Anger erupted, spurned by shame and the breathlessness of his confusing need... the urge under his skin that made his fingers flex. 

"Not you!" he spat, arching and trying to bite at Craig like an animal, blind with fury. "I'd never think of you like that!"

Staying out of reach, Craig held him tightly and watched with patient passivity as Kyle struggled, uttering nonsense and vitriol, wanting to hurt, wanting to tear everything apart with his hands. When he was done, panting and locked up, sweat on his forehead, Craig cradled his face with his hands. 

"It was just a question Kyle, and I wasn't asking for a lot either."

"Sometimes asking for anything is asking too much," Kyle almost sobbed, exhausted and no longer visibly aroused, but the need ran deep in him; a river of red-hot thirst rushing in veins and secret caverns. He bit his mouth, terrified. 

"I think I already know the answer, anyway," Craig said, leaning to kiss Kyle's mouth before tearing away with a yell, fingers touching the blood streaming from his bottom lip. 

Kyle, savagely victorious, looked up at him with open malice, tongue passing over his teeth, relishing the salty metallic flavor. His elation was short-lived, though, when he felt a heavy hand connect with his cheek, snapping his head to the side; mouth and eyes open with awed shock. For long moments, he was only aware of his shallow breaths and a beam of ruby red sunlight striking through the blinds to stain the far wall with its visceral brilliance. 

But then his head was being turned, and he was looking into Craig's face, at the trail of red falling down his chin; cheek warm and throbbing. They regarded one another, Craig's face tight and closed-off, a shut book, but the light in his eyes was a winter twilight; sharp, cutting, and full of a quiet regret. 

"I lost control," he said, licking some blood away. "I shouldn't have done that."

"You already did it, so what does it matter now?" Kyle asked. 

"It matters," Craig said, shifting and sitting up, turning his face away. "You matter more than anything."

"As long as you can control everything I do," Kyle whispered, covertly moving to zip his jeans, covering himself... retreating back into his head where he belonged; praying that Craig wouldn't try to follow. 

"You kissed me back last night," Craig said quietly, staring at his tightly clenched hands. "You closed your eyes and you relaxed; I felt it."

Wiping blood away, Kyle watched the red light on the wall burn, a clear sign that the weather had broken and evening was falling fast. It was easier to focus on the mundane rather than the shadows stirring in his head; Craig's words and their sinister, potential truth. Rolling away, he stood. 

"Help me," he said, relieved when the metallic remnants washed down his throat so they could be forgotten. Taking up the comforter, he threw it on the floor before stripping the sheets off. "I can't stand sleeping in a messy, wrinkled bed, and this all needs to be washed."

Craig was still before he rose as well, silently helping to put the bed to rights with fresh linens and a coverlet. On occasion, Kyle would steal glances at him, eyes lingering on Craig's rapidly swelling lip; the hint of red trickling downward. He was vaguely sickened when the elation from before didn't bloom in him, but he focused on the task at hand instead; humming softly to distract himself further. 

The remainder of the day was spent in a tensive quiet, Kyle doing chores and Craig working in the living room, though he didn't seem very productive. Every time Kyle looked in on him, Craig was staring out the window at the water, smooth as glass after the winds had gentled. His pencil was in his hand but it was essentially forgotten for how much it was used. 

Dinner was served early mainly because Kyle was uneasy and searching for things to do. He heated up the leftover Thai food and set the small table in the dining room off the kitchen, rarely used and more like a showroom than a welcoming atmosphere to eat. Without really thinking about it, Kyle fished out a pair of old candles and lit them, placing them in the middle of the table. When he called Craig to the table, he was grateful when he didn't mention their presence. 

He was also grateful when Craig didn't make a big fuss over the towel filled with ice that Kyle had left next to his plate. 

"For your mouth," he said quietly, not looking up from his food, stomach churning. The tension in the air was so thick it stole his appetite. 

There was the sound of ice rattling as the towel was lifted, a heavy quiet, and then Kyle was jumping when cold softness settled on his cheek. Looking up, Craig was watching him, the candlelight playing over his face and carving out purple shadows under his cheekbones. 

Heat crept up Kyle's throat when Craig looked at him like that, relaxing as the cold bled into his skin and eased the ache from before. They stared at each other until Kyle had to break the contact, though he did turn his face to lean into the towel a little more; eyes slipping shut. 

"Really, it doesn't hurt that much," he murmured, aware of the candles flickering; red before his eyelids. 

"You shouldn't hurt at all," Craig replied quietly. 

Swallowing, Kyle didn't reply, the roiling in his belly continuing as his cheek slowly numbed; vague hurts fading until it was as if they'd never existed in the first place. 

\-----

The following day was overcast and drizzly as well, but that didn't stop Craig from going to the store to pick up groceries; gathering more wildflowers before he returned. Kyle didn't mention the white blooms in the kitchen as he cooked their meals, nor did he point out that Craig had deliberately purchased all the things he knew Kyle enjoyed, even more meticulously than usual. 

They stayed in again, not discussing the decision, not talking much at all, really. The tension from the day before lingered, Kyle with a faint bruise on his cheek and Craig's lip swollen and discolored. They avoided direct eye contact, going about their business and only speaking when necessary. That didn't stop Kyle from feeling Craig watching him every time he was within eyesight; the sensation somehow even heavier now, bordering on ravenous. 

Kyle was exhausted by the time night fell, a growing restlessness and faceless need driving him to find anything to keep himself occupied; so he wouldn't have to feel or think. Still, it took him hours to fall asleep, cold chains coiled around him, and Craig not cradling him as he normally did, the space between them wide enough to accommodate another person. He lay for what felt like an eternity watching the clouds cover the moon, brushing away tears that fell and wet his cheeks. Frustrated, he couldn't even say why he was crying. 

The next day and the one after were much the same, the minutes stretched tight as the rain fell off and on; chilled, monotonous, relentless. Kyle stood at the window and watched, wanting to scream, almost - almost - wanting to turn around and engage with Craig, who had proven himself very adept at keeping himself occupied while carefully keeping Kyle at arm's length, too; conspicuously quiet and making no attempts at conversation. 

If that was truly what he was doing, but Kyle couldn't be sure. He just knew there'd been a shift between them, almost like something had been bent or cracked. 

Or maybe the shift was only inside of himself. He didn't even want to consider that possibility, though. 

Instead, he deep-cleaned everything he could get his hands on, moving around the condo like a man possessed. He rearranged the bookshelves, too keyed up to actually read anything, teeth grating his lip until it stung; he scrubbed the bathroom floor, he even reorganized the linen closet. After getting the green light from Craig, he spent part of the long, dull afternoon standing on the balcony under an old umbrella, watching the rain become clinking silvery coins on the pavement. The harbor was like a ghost town, only feeding his disconnection. 

When he turned, though, Craig was even more obvious with how he observed him, sketchpad on his knee and filled with Kyle, the only color on the page the red umbrella that was being held aloft. Kyle regarded him for long, pregnant moments, heart frantic under his breastbone, until he ducked his head, hiding his eyes. Words were trapped in his mouth that he couldn't let go of, making him sick, making him ache in a way he couldn't articulate or accept. 

By dinnertime he practically begged Craig to let him have a drink while he ate, shaky and terrified of the ongoing silence, the distance he should crave but unable to understand; the unknown of it all. His hand strayed to his cheek when he asked, and though it wasn't deliberate, he had reason to believe it was that small detail that swayed Craig's decision in his favor. It wasn't until he was two rum and cokes deep that he felt an anguished rage about asking permission in the first place... like it was second nature, totally and completely expected. But he'd been deferring for months now, hadn't he? He was just staying the course; obeying in order to survive. 

Oh, how impossibly far he'd fallen already... this knowledge, the very thought of it, was enough to make his next drink almost entirely rum, with just a thought of coke to lighten it. 

Nodding and sleepy, Kyle ran through the evidence in his head, the way he deferred to Craig over almost everything, his food, his clothing, bathing... how he kept his voice level and soft almost all the time, even without the collar, lifting his arms without being asked to be shackled at night....

He clung to him now, thoughtlessly, stayed close, always within reach, and now Craig was moving away. He should be euphoric, elated, ecstatic -

"Why are you doing this?" he slurred, head lolling as he shoved his full plate of dinner away. He laughed, looking at it; pot roast and roasted potatoes -

Craig's favorite. Cooked to perfection, to his specifications. Kyle laughed a short bark, covering his mouth a little too late. Taking up his drink, Kyle took a tremulous sip, glancing at Craig who kept eating; slowly chewing and focused on the window, almost appearing distracted. 

Which only infuriated Kyle because he was so fucking confused. Craig had been looking at him all day, all week; for months, years, and now they were sharing a table and he couldn't be bothered. It seemed like they were in different rooms, as separated as they were in bed at night as the long, empty hours dragged on. 

"I'm talking to you," Kyle snapped, voice low. He wanted to yell but he felt compelled not to. He clutched his drink, hand shaking and making it spill amber droplets. "The least you can do is look at me!"

Laying his fork down, Craig drank some water before finally turning to him, expression inscrutable; eyes filled with vague shadow. 

"I'm sorry?" he asked, sounding tired. 

Dropping his hands, Kyle squeezed the hem of his shirt. He leaned forward. "I asked why you're doing this."

Slow blinks met his question, Kyle counting them in turn; one, two, three. Craig's response was removed when he gave it. 

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Kyle. Can you explain?"

"You know what I mean," Kyle retorted, knowing, on some level, what he wanted to say, at least how he felt, but the words floated in a far- away murky place he couldn't reach. He gnawed his cheek, navigating drunk thoughts and failing. 

"Do I?" Delicately, Craig drank more water. 

Kyle, entranced by the subtle flex of Craig's throat, grit his teeth. He didn't want this noncommittal bullshit. He wanted answers, discourse, something other than the silence and the distance. 

Nerves burning, Kyle rested his forehead on the table, hands still wrapped in his shirt, clenched until they throbbed. 

"It's so quiet," he almost whispered. "It just makes everything louder."

"Your thoughts?"

He nodded. 

After a moment, Craig cleared his throat. 

"I needed space for a while, I guess, and because we can't physically be apart I withdrew the only other way I knew how." A tapping of fingers and then, "I'm sorry if I upset you."

"Space? You needed space?" Kyle asked incredulously, sitting up and fixing him with his fiercest, most cutting stare, furious but also deeply relieved; like tiny cogs were clicking back into place inside him and turning properly. "Why the hell would you need space? I didn't even think you understood what that word meant."

Mouth pulled tight, Craig narrowed his eyes. "Kyle, I hit you. Hard. I can't just overlook that." He took a deep breath. "I'm disgusted with myself, okay? I needed to get my thoughts in order, examine how I could hurt someone so precious to me... process my guilt. That takes time."

"Craig, you've killed a man. You got rid of him like he was trash."

"He was nothing," Craig said simply, tilting his head much like a dog whose heard an interesting sound. "You're everything."

Standing, he came around the table and gently turned Kyle in his seat, kneeling before him; hands on his knees. Stroking him with his thumbs, he gazed into Kyle's face, smiling at something he saw there. 

When Kyle shivered, a thread of pinlike sensations climbing his backbone, he reached over and grabbed his drink, knocking it back. Wiping his mouth with his wrist, he looked down at Craig, almost not recognizing him in this position; below and having to turn his eyes upward, worshipful. They'd been like this before, but now it seemed to take on a significance Kyle couldn't quite name. 

Perhaps it was the smile Craig wore when he looked at Kyle now or the way he eased his own thighs apart slightly without being coaxed. He froze, gulping his drink until it was almost gone. 

"You knew what you were doing," he mumbled, words thick, "you knew all along."

"Who were you thinking about?" Craig asked, lifting a hand to touch Kyle's face, running his knuckles over the apple of his cheek, where the bruise, though light, still lingered. "The other day? I won't get mad, Kyle...I wouldn't have gotten mad then, either."

Almost compelled to press a finger to Craig's wounded mouth, Kyle refrained, easing his legs back together. Looking away, the scent of their used sheets came to him along with everything else, dark-haired entities intertwining and coming together before ultimately splitting, his head muzzy; thoughts merging with inebriation and muddying waters that were already impossibly deep. 

"It doesn't matter," he decided to say, wanting to sink, so tired. So unbelievably exhausted, like he'd been walking for days without a clear destination in mind. 

"You have circles under your eyes," Craig commented, brushing the thin skin. "You haven't been sleeping well."

"And you love that, don't you?" Kyle replied, moving back. He tossed his head, overwhelmed by the contact, Craig's heat. He indicated his empty glass. "I need to get more."

Head swimming, he was clumsy when he stumbled to the kitchen, nearly falling before he made it. Managing, he yanked up the rum and poured a healthy amount into his glass, drowning it with coke after. Drinking deeply, his eye fell on the vase of white flowers and his thoughts became ugly and sad, as they often did when he was slipping down the neck of a bottle. Craig had replenished them every day, without fail. 

"If you hated the quiet so much, why don't we just talk?" Craig asked, coming over and folding his arms on the bar, leaning on them. "What are we proving keeping things hidden at this point?"

Breath shuddering, Kyle shook his head, wanting to appear strong when he was anything but, disarmed by such simple questions. He was afraid to talk because it'd reveal too much, how the silence, the space had broken him, had crept into his head and made him cold. 

And now he felt warm, didn't he? Angry, but so warm. 

"You act like we're lovers, giving me flowers every day," he muttered, gesturing to the vase. 

"You deserve flowers," Craig said, unprovoked at Kyle's tone. "You deserve to know that someone cares about you."

"Yeah, that's why you punished me for..." he trailed off, still held aloof by the last lingering threats of his dignity. 

"I wasn't punishing you for thinking about Stan," Craig said softly, "because I know it wasn't just him inside your head, and besides, aren't you punishing yourself for thinking about him on your own?"

Feeling like he'd been slapped again, Kyle bared his teeth, finally finding the wherewithal to raise his voice, but less from anger and more from a terrible sorrow. "You don't know what's in my head! And I didn't kiss you that night! That wasn't me! I would never kiss you unless I was forced!"

Starting to come around the counter, Craig held out a hand like he wanted to gentle Kyle, ease him back to a state of mind where he could be reasoned with. He also appeared concerned, eyes squinted and brow furrowed. 

"Don't get worked up," he said, "what do you mean that wasn't you? Who else would it be, Kyle?"

Backing up, Kyle stifled a scream when he hit the counter, terrified to have Craig advancing on him, even though his face was so kind, and his voice... it wasn't accusing him, it wasn't saying he was crazy, even if there were several versions of himself that he'd built to cope. He grabbed his head, wondering who he was in that moment... the Kyle that had been kidnapped and carried to the sea, or the Kyle that had been born from the trauma and pain, the dread of waiting out those long days nearly alone....

Or was he the Kyle that had hated the feelings stirring in his belly when Craig touched him, even if, in a way, he welcomed them? The Kyle that couldn't stand when he wasn't being watched? Sobbing, he winced at the heat throbbing in him, gripping the counter to stop from falling, letting out a pained, primal sound when he reached for the vase of flowers, unthinking as he launched it at Craig, delighting at the way it crashed into the far wall and split apart in a cascade of water spraying and white petals fluttering; bird feathers falling to the floor in a snowy, decimated shower. 

Giving into the thrill of destruction, Kyle snatched up his glass and prepared to throw it at Craig as well, snarling when Craig moved impossibly fast and knocked it from his hand, pushing him back and up against the wall, holding Kyle tightly as he thrashed, soothing him with small rushes of air between his lips, waiting while the trapped boy screamed and kicked, slicked with sweat and bleary- eyed from alcohol and such a deep, profound fear that soon he was crying; gasping in painful bursts until he stilled, trembling and seeing only this fear, turning it into something tangible and awful, his nightmares, worse, his delusions, becoming hatefully real. 

"Shhh, I'm here, I'm here," he hushed, pressing his lips against Kyle's forehead. "Don't forget that... you aren't alone, Kyle. I'll never let you be alone again."

"I didn't ask for this," Kyle spoke softly, detached, broken... barely there, like fog, a tenuous idea. What was he anymore if Craig wasn't looking at him with that strange, turbulent light in his eyes? "I don't know what I am anymore... I'm real, right? All of this is real and I haven't disappeared, or am I different people at different times?"

"You're Kyle," Craig sighed, voice hitching, "you're my Kyle. You're loved and needed and precious. Okay?"

Through his tears, Kyle looked at the man holding him, hardly recognizing him, certainly not knowing him, and ached to see the bruised mouth, the discolored, full bottom lip and leaned forward, eyelashes wet; body thrumming. He felt feverish and pliable, too soft like a creature that had recently shed its skin. 

"I'm Kyle," he murmured, breathing gently against the man's face, aware of his strong, large hands keeping him in place, safe and contained. He smiled, sinking into his weariness. "I'm your Kyle and you're Craig... but do you belong to me, too?"

"Kyle," Craig said, unsure and almost panicked, but his grip loosened, allowing Kyle to get closer; lips ghosting over Craig's cheek, resting for a moment. "Kyle, what...?"

"I want to know," Kyle sighed, lips pressing but avoiding Craig's mouth, "how did you survive being on the streets, when no one cared if you lived or died, when you had no one but yourself?"

Startled, Craig stared at him, a harshness coming into his demeanor; a residual, long-forgotten pain making his eyes cold again. The pupils dilated, fat and black. "You never wanted to know before and besides, it doesn't matter. I lived. I'm here now... in one piece."

"Are you?" Kyle asked, looking at him askance. 

"More or less."

"Would you say I'm in one piece?" 

Craig paused, hands tightening on Kyle's arms until he let go of his breath, hot and trapped in his lungs. It almost sounded like a lost little sigh. 

"I was ruthless when I needed to be," Craig admitted, his words halting like they were being torn from him. "Soft at other times." He grimaced. "Beguiling, at least that's what I was told... and when I was being held down and used by the man who owned me...I wasn't there until I could allow myself to come back."

Smiling, Kyle tilted his head, wanting to appear agreeable and appealing; warmly drunk with the rum running rampant in his blood. "You disappeared."

Licking his lips, Craig nodded. "When he touched me, when anyone did, they weren't really touching me, even if they thought they were."

Kyle hummed, slackening in Craig's hands until he was being pulled close. Released, he snaked his arms around the man's middle, hugging him fiercely. 

"I'm sorry," he breathed, burying his face in Craig's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Craig."

Tensing, Craig pulled away to study Kyle's face, clearly not trusting this turn of events, the slack, unpredictable boy in his arms. Frowning, he shook him lightly, not to hurt or startle, but to awaken him from his nonsensical ravings. 

Kyle, instead, bent to touch his lips to Craig's mouth, where he'd bitten and torn, acting as a feral, desperate thing. The kiss was a breath, a sigh, so soft that the whisper of it was more a thought than anything else, but it had the power to stop Craig in his tracks, eyes widening until they were veritable saucers. 

"What are you doing?" He asked, cupping Kyle's face, eyes searching.

"You were lying before, weren't you?" Kyle asked, shifting his eyes to take in all of Craig's face, turning to kiss his palm, once, twice; unfocused, hazy, but uncaring. This Kyle could endure, he could bear up, and he was seeing so clearly; clearer than he had in a long, long time. 

"About what?" Folding, Craig sank to his knees, taking Kyle with him, cradling him close. 

"You've killed before, haven't you?" Kyle whispered, kissing again, "before that boy...a long time ago." Lips trembling, he reached to touch Craig's face. "To protect yourself."

Craig held him harder, threading fingers through the curls he made so obvious that he adored. "I survived, Kyle."

"Then so will I," Kyle all but sighed, twisting to bare his neck, drifting through stars and ether when he felt Craig's mouth on him, sucking bruises into his skin, raw and throbbing and warm. Eyes shut, he became particles hovering in space and time, his panting breath the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, such as it was. "I'll be your Kyle and I'll survive, won't i?"

Gathering him close, Craig sighed against the curve of Kyle's throat, nosing his pulse which was fluttering and rapid as Kyle sank further into the feeling of being held, owned; not truly as himself but as a mere part, a version, that couldn't fight anymore. Not so desperately, anyway. 

It just hurt too much. All of it. 

"I shouldn't have hit you," Craig said, pulling him back into the moment. "It doesn't matter how angry I was...I told myself I'd never do that, and...I failed. I failed both of us."

Relaxing in Craig's lap, Kyle said nothing. Instead, he burrowed closer, rum-drunk and gone, not wanting to think too hard about any of this. 

"I always wanted to touch you softly, like this," he added, kissing along Kyle's jaw, stroking a hand down the sensitive slope of his inner arm. "Never in anger, never to hurt." Eyes darkening, Craig stared into the distance, jaw set. "I hated using force with you, using the collar, but -"

"Don't," Kyle murmured, touching Craig's mouth for a moment before pulling away. 

"I hated it even more after you told me about," throat clicking, Craig lowered his face into his hand, "what happened before. You and him. Stan." He spoke the name like it was poison in his mouth. 

"We were young and made a mistake," Kyle sighed, looking away until Craig caught his chin and turned Kyle back toward him. 

"Kyle, he lied to you. And Wendy."

Kyle shook his head, not wanting to listen; desperate not to have this conversation. 

"It wasn't deliberate, and I shouldn't have -"

Craig's fingers tensed on Kyle's face, making him pause. The man holding him was suddenly severe, all tenderness gone. 

"Stop defending him. He used you, hurt you." He ran a thumb over Kyle's bottom lip. "He stole something from you that you can't get back, and I hate him for it. I hate him the way you should hate him."

Tears stood in Kyle's eyes but he wouldn't let them fall, already too raw to hear all of this. He shrugged, trying to appear stoic. 

"I'm partially to blame, dwelling on this for so long...I should've just moved on instead of letting one moment in my past dictate my future." He laughed, a brittle, humorless little thing. "I was stupid... I'm still being stupid."

Letting him go, Craig leaned his face into Kyle's hair, practically vibrating with an underlying tension; muscles tight under his skin. 

"My Kyle," he murmured into the wild tangle of red curls. "There's only one way that I can think of for you to truly be able to let go of this... to make Stan understand what he did, so you can cope and finally walk away."

Holding back a whine, Kyle squirmed in Craig's lap, uncomfortable now in a way he couldn't just set aside. 

"What are you talking about?" he asked, almost frantic, because he already had an idea where Craig was going; reckless, without care for rhyme, reason, or decency. 

Seemingly wanting to placate Kyle's fears, Craig laid a gentle hand against his belly, fingers splayed and very close to the soft skin of Kyle's pubis, drawing to the surface the heat stirring low within himself. Eyes widening, Kyle did whine now, ashamed when it sounded more like a moan. 

"You asked before where we could go from here," Craig murmured, hand slipping slowly downward, tentative though it became bolder when Kyle didn't push him away; fogged and already rapidly disassociating. "But I think you know, don't you?"

"I can't," Kyle almost sobbed, crying out when Craig's touch came to rest between his legs, mind finally cracking and splitting apart like ripe, sun-warmed fruit. He sighed, panting, leaning his head back against Craig's shoulder to stare at the ceiling, not really seeing it. "Please, I can't!"

"You can," Craig said against his ear, "and you will - we will. We'll face him together. You'll call tomorrow -"

"No," Kyle breathed, coming undone as Craig touched him, even over his clothes, even when it was just gentle, little strokes... but it had been so long, and his body was overly sensitive; starved and yearning. "I won't even know what to say, and it's been too long..." he broke off, arching when Craig's fingers cupped him, large palm pressed firm and so warm. 

"You'll know what to say when the time comes," Craig said easily, his breath coming a little faster as he tugged Kyle's earlobe between his teeth, biting lightly before sucking it softly. "And then we can face your demons and finally put them behind us." A smile in his voice, he worked to spread Kyle's thighs, turning him into an offering. 

"And then it can finally be just us, you and I... the way it was meant to be." He shuddered against Kyle's nape. "My Kyle."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no trigger warnings
> 
> This part was fun to write bc I love creating uncomfortable situations (clearly). I also love tension, so. I also love road trips so getting to write them is a plus, lmao. I've actually done the Baltimore to Colorado trip so it was like going down memory lane. XD pulling from real experiences here, you guys. 
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you guys like it. ENJOY❤
> 
> PS: thank you for the comments!! I'm always amazed when people read but to leave such lovely notes? I'm elated. 😄

_**I can't see me lovin' nobody but you** _   
_ **For all my life** _   
_ **When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue** _   
_ **For all my life** _

_ **Me and you and you and me** _   
_ **No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be** _   
_ **The only one for me is you, and you for me** _   
_ **So happy together** _

_ **\- The Turtles, So Happy Together** _

* * *

There was heat on his skin when he woke the next morning, bathed in shadow; birds chirped beyond the window, fragile, little notes heralding the coming sun. It bloomed behind the glass like soft flowers, yellow and hazy. 

Kyle lay on his side, hands shackled, as always, curled near his face, and Craig was close again after so many nights of keeping his distance. His breath was hot against Kyle's nape, his hair, and his hands were trailing beneath his shirt, opening to span his ribs, sliding over the smooth, concave abdomen that Kyle purposely kept so empty. Craig panted, heavy, like he'd run a race, his hardness pushed against Kyle who focused on the far wall, considering the nightmares he'd woken from. 

He'd been on the beach beside the cottage, kneeling in the sand, digging with his hands and collecting bones, one after the other, gathering them to assemble, and when he did -

Craig sighed, rutting softly against Kyle's covered backside, hands groping and touching and claiming. Kyle closed his eyes and heard the bird trills, and on that distant, forgotten beach, he arranged the pearly, chipped bones into the likeness of a man...

"We should get up," Craig sighed again next to the shell of Kyle's ear, clenching his thin shirt in his hands and twisting it, a knee slipping between Kyle's legs to open him. "If we don't, well," he laughed lightly, but it had a hint of desperate hysteria in it. 

With the sound of Craig's voice, the dream broke and melted, the bones dragged into the surf and dispersing. Kyle opened his eyes and smiled, a blankness filtering through him that he welcomed. 

"What would you like for breakfast?"

After bathing together, Craig washing Kyle's hair with his special, meticulous attention, they sat to eat on the balcony; the rain having finally cleared away to reveal skies so blue they made Kyle's heart ache. He sipped his coffee and ate when Craig chided him to, glancing down at one point to study a jagged cut on his palm. He frowned, turning his hand back and forth. 

"When we cleaned up the vase you threw, I imagine," Craig said quietly, looking up from his crossword puzzle briefly. Stroking his chin, he added, "one charging a flat rate, eight letters."

"Oh, yes," Kyle said, running a finger over the red flesh. "The vase. What a shame."

Craig laughed, passing him a fond smile. "You were pretty drunk by then... I'm not surprised your recollection is hazy."

Vaguely, Kyle could recall the sensation of being gently touched and coaxed until he had finally given in, allowing a skilled hand to bring him to the edge until he'd ultimately been pushed off. He warmed, bringing his knees to his chest, remembering the wetness in his clothes, the confusing tranquility that had visited him after. Resolutely, he closed himself off from these memories, looking into his coffee mug and watching it swirl a creamy brown. 

"I wanted you to sleep but you insisted on helping," Craig continued, "which I appreciated, of course, but I've come to admire your stubbornness."

"Hmm," Kyle replied, closing his hand tightly to make it ache, to distract himself further. Instead, he mulled over Craig's puzzle, the riddle tripping off his tongue like tiny pebbles dropping. "Charging a flat rate... tricky. That'll take me a moment."

"We'll gather more flowers after you make the call," Craig said matter-of-factly, wiping bagel crumbs from the paper's surface. "I'm sure you have another vase hidden away or we can just use a cup. Whatever works."

Stiffening, pieces of last night's conversation started coming back to Kyle in waves, interspersed with vivid flashes of his nightmare... had he been gathering the dead boy's remains or his own, already in the process of being harvested?

"The call?" he asked, beginning to clumsily stack their dishes, nearly knocking over a tall glass of orange juice. 

Dipping his head, Craig wrote something before flicking his eyes up. "Yes. You know what I'm talking about, so don't try to act coy."

"I'm not. It's just," he sighed, easing an ache in his temple with unsteady fingers, "I just don't understand what this is going to accomplish. Confronting Stan at this point will only cause trouble and...I don't know, it almost feels petty."

Craig stared at him, tapping the table with his pencil. Bathed in the morning sun, his dark hair appeared gilded. "What's petty about attaining closure and demanding an explanation for being mistreated?" He snorted. "What, are you worried his little fairy tale existence is going to come crashing down around him if you show up? Maybe that's exactly what he deserves."

Unnerved by the look in Craig's eyes, akin to a dark pulse, a shimmer, Kyle set his feet to the ground, seeking balance. "I'm not trying to uproot anyone's life here, Craig. What purpose does that serve?" Then, pausing, he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing. He thought about Craig's gun, the murkiness of his past juxtaposed with how easily he could slip into violence in the present. 

"You aren't planning to do anything, are you?" Head bowed, Kyle once again focused on the gash on his hand. "I won't let you hurt him Craig, regardless of how he treated me."

There was a soft laugh and he looked up to see Craig slowly shaking his head, face leaned on his hand. "I'll play nice for your sake, okay?" Just then, he snapped his fingers, some of the shadow in his eyes evaporating. He bent over the paper, scribbling quickly. "I think I've got it."

Blinking, Kyle was trying to breathe through his tensed nerves, clenching his hands open and shut, open and shut. He stilled, thrown off. "Huh?"

"Charging a flat rate," Craig smiled slowly, "a landlord. Isn't that clever?" Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew Kyle's phone before rolling his eyes. "I mean, the person who thought of the clue... not me for figuring it out." Sliding his finger across the screen, he gave Kyle an expectant look. 

"You ready?"

Frantically, Kyle shook his head, pushing away from the table. Suddenly the sunlight was laying too heavily on him, like a heated, cloying shawl. 

"I don't think I can do this." Viciously, he glared at him. "It isn't fair that you're telling me to, because you're certainly not asking, right?"

"No," came the response, spoken simply and without irritation; straightforward as the answer to a crossword clue. "You'll call and tell him you want to visit. It really doesn't need to be any more complicated than that."

Kyle eyed the phone with a sick distaste, the throb growing in his head. "And when I tell him I won't be coming alone? What then?"

Craig raised and lowered a shoulder, a small detached gesture that clearly conveyed his lack of concern. "He'll just have to accept that, won't he? He can't tell you what to do... he doesn't own you."

Flinching, Kyle accepted the phone, squeezing his legs together to try and forget the way he'd succumbed the night before; crying out when Craig touched him, opening up -

Nearly begging for it, the sweet, aching release. Tears burned his eyes as he scrolled through his contacts. 

"Nobody does," he finally said, finger hovering over Stan's name. Shuddering, he hit the call button and waited, feeling like his heart was expanding in his chest; slightly short of breath. 

"Put it on speaker and then set it between us," Craig said pleasantly, setting his pencil aside to give the device and Kyle his full focus. "And don't try anything foolish, but you already knew that."

The sun angled in such a way as to dazzle his eyes after he set the phone down, anticipation making him raw, breathless, and then, like a ghost materializing in a long forgotten corridor, Stan's voice was pouring over him like the sun above. 

"It's about damn time you called me, dude," he said, the rich, husky timbre in his voice like fingers on Kyle's skin. He laughed, and it was so bright. "Where the hell have you been?"

Straight to the point, just like always, but Kyle could hear the genuine concern underlying the words, Stan's brand of gruff sentimentality. He smiled, despite himself, avoiding looking at Craig. 

For a moment he didn't think he could speak, overcome, but then the words started to pour, and once they began they didn't stop. 

"I guess you could say I've been otherwise occupied," he replied, pressing his fingers to his lips to try and hide his delight. "But I'm calling you now, aren't I?"

"Yeah, after everything's already happened!" A pause, and then, "you got my message, right? About Wendy and -"

"I did, yes," Kyle said, some of his felicity waning, fingers still pressing but more painfully now. "I'm happy for you guys... congratulations."

If Stan noticed Kyle's change in tone, he didn't mention it, moving on with ease. "It was intense... watching Wendy go through that, you know?" Sheepishly, he added, "I can't lie, I almost passed out when the baby crowned. I shouldn't have looked."

"Oh, Stan, you didn't," Kyle sighed, though he could believe it... Stan possessed a weak stomach, always had. As children, he'd been the one most averse to even the smallest acts of physical cruelty, having never had the urge to tear off a butterfly's wings just to see what would happen... no, instead, he'd captured the creatures so he could set them free again, not even able to stomach keeping them encased in glass jars. 

"I'm afraid so... had to sit down, didn't even get to cut the cord. A nurse had to bring me some apple juice while wendy was doing her thing."

"I'm sure she loved that," Kyle mused, chasing a sun sparkle on the glass table with his finger. 

"Honestly, she didn't seem fazed at all... just kept pushing, even asked me if I was okay during a contraction." He sighed, and Kyle was all but sure that Stan was shaking his head. "But you know how wendy is, right?"

"Oh, definitely." Kyle absolutely knew how Wendy was... poised, confident, but having a dichotomy to her personality where she could be effortlessly kind or righteously vicious depending on the circumstances. "She's strong, always has been."

"Yeah," Stan almost breathed, and it tore right through Kyle's defenses, down to the place where he still loved his friend so desperately. That one word, spoken with so much unconcealed admiration, had the power to cut him in two, and it did. 

Blinking rapidly, Kyle covered his face, hiding in the dark in order to compose himself. 

"Kyle? You still there?"

Muffled, Kyle nodded while he spoke. "Uh huh, I'm just... I'm sorry, man, I'm just kind of tired."

"Oh?" Stan asked, not hiding the sadness in his voice. "Did you have to go? Already?"

"No, not yet," Kyle said quickly, bolstered by Stan's melancholy and nauseous at how quickly his mood could turn based on how Stan spoke to him; it was draining. "Besides, I called for a reason... not just to make small talk."

"Since when do you need a reason to call me?"

"You know what i mean, ass hat, I'm just saying i wanted to tell you that," looking up, he finally locked eyes with Craig, who was watching this exchange with the unsettling intensity of a predator crouched in the dark. Mouth dry, Kyle struggled to swallow. "I-I was thinking that I'd come visit you guys soon... if that's still okay."

With obvious elation, Stan told him he was welcome anytime, that their door was always open, and -

"You're actually going to take time off work? You were complaining that you had to do that for the reunion."

With narrowed eyes, Kyle gave Craig a look loaded with daggers before answering. "I've suddenly found myself with a lot of time on my hands, to tell the truth."

"Well, you needed to take a break. You always push yourself so hard." Becoming quiet, he added, "that job isn't making you happy, anyway. At least, that's the vibe I got."

Rage flared in him at Craig's vindicated smile, making him look away toward the green water, focusing on a bobbing gull. "All that aside," he said through clenched teeth, "I have some time, so... when are you open?"

"Now!" Stan laughed, and Kyle ached to hear it, letting it wrap him over and over in real, warm light until he was weightless with it. "Whenever you can get here... you know we're back on the farm, right?"

"Oh so you guys actually went through with it, huh?"

"Well, my dad can't really handle the upkeep anymore, not after his third heart attack, and mom always hated the place so they handed it over to me. Shelly's in Washington and had no interest in coming back."

"Can't say that I blame her," Kyle said. 

Stan snorted. "What, are you seriously telling me you don't miss South Park, Kyle? But it's such a healthy, welcoming environment that didn't totally screw us up as kids."

"I miss certain things," Kyle replied, leaning his cheek on the warm table and feeling very weary. "I can't deny that, and I always will, but..." he trailed off for a moment, considering this thought but not wanting to expound. "Anyway, we should be there in a few days... I'm planning on driving."

"We?" 

Glancing up, Kyle could see that Craig's smile had changed, becoming anticipatory. Gut clenching like a fist, Kyle pinched his leg to help focus his thoughts. 

"Yes, I'll actually be bringing someone along." He pinched himself harder, almost gasping from the ache. "Is that okay?"

There was a long pause, which only tightened Kyle's stomach more; leg screaming as he gouged his nails in now. 

Finally, Stan spoke, sounding somewhat flustered. "Sure, of course, yeah. You can bring someone, you don't even have to ask." Another pause. "Is that why you've been so quiet? Because you met someone?"

A hysterical giggle burst from Kyle's mouth, becoming harder to control when he saw Craig frowning at him, jaw set. He smirked, nearly overcome by just how surreal this whole conversation was; certain it was a dream that would shatter soon and bring him back to reality. 

"I guess you could say that," he replied, "it all happened so fast and just kind of... consumed me, more or less." 

"A real whirlwind romance, huh?" Stan asked, the inquiry coming across as more of an accusation rather than idle curiosity. 

Certain he was going to be sick after ending this exchange, Kyle ignored the question, rushing on. "So, the farm, huh? It'll be weird to go back there, but... I'm looking forward to seeing everyone."

"Wendy will be thrilled to see you," Stan said, softening, "and so will Beatrix."

Sitting up, Kyle tilted his head toward the sky and closed his eyes. They felt heavy but he refused to let the tears show in his voice. 

"Beatrix?" he asked, playing dumb. 

"Yeah, we call her Bea most of the time, though." The fondness in Stan's voice was palpable. "Everyone says she looks just like Wendy but I'm not sure I agree."

"Wow, a girl... you had a girl," Kyle almost whispered, words wavering. He had to end the call soon before the dam broke. He took a long, shuddering breath. "Hey, that's great. Seriously. Oh, damn," he added, feigning annoyance. "I have another call coming in, man. I have to take it."

"But you're coming, right? You promise?" Stan asked hurriedly. 

"I said I was, didn't i?" Kyle asked, coughing when his voice cracked. "It was nice hearing your voice again."

"I'm so relieved to hear from you finally," he nearly sighed, voice dropping and becoming beautifully husky. "Well, we'll see you soon... you and your friend, of course."

"Of course," Kyle said, picking up the phone, shaking now. After a soft goodbye, he hung up, gently setting the phone down and turning toward the water, chewing his lip until it broke and bled. 

"You did so well," Craig praised him, reaching out to take the phone; soothing, placating words that made Kyle cringe. 

Kyle didn't answer, choosing instead to watch the waves rolling in and flattening out, reflecting blue skies clear of clouds...an aching lump in his throat. He merely reminded himself to keep breathing, but it was so hard when his chest felt so heavy and full... just too full to handle. It was almost like his beating heart was crowding his lungs. 

"We'll leave tomorrow, okay?" Craig continued quietly. "Early... if we don't make a lot of stops we can be there within two to three days. What do you think?"

Shaking his head, Kyle stood from the table, shoved his chair in harder than necessary, and without looking at Craig, went back into the condo, down the hall, and once in the bathroom, knelt on the floor and emptied his stomach into the toilet. Only then did he allow himself the luxury of tears; sobbing softly while leaning his cheek against cold porcelain. 

\-----

They were quiet when they took their leave the next morning, sleepy-eyed and docile in the dusky pre-dawn light. Like before, their luggage waited in a dark hallway for their departure, and Kyle requested xanax before he prepared coffee in two travel mugs. Craig obliged, offering him half a bar with an indulgent demeanor. 

The xanax hadn't had a chance to take effect before Craig put Kyle's collar back on, snapping it into place with very little ceremony. Head bowed, Kyle allowed this because Craig told him it would be for the best. He couldn't say the collar's weight felt natural by any means, but it seemed to settle less heavily on him now. 

Becoming comfortably loopy, Kyle had to laugh once they were settled in the car.

"Would you say you've successfully belled the cat at this point?"

Amused, Craig sipped his coffee before pulling onto I-70, the rising sun sending out veins of light against the somewhat cloudy sky. "I guess only time will tell... considering I'm dealing with such a feisty cat. I'm a patient man, though, Kyle; I'll continue to bide my time."

"As will I," Kyle said, yawning lightly. "But I'm starting to see that there's no point, I think." He frowned, closing his eyes against the sun's rays. "I still don't understand why we need to do all this in person."

"Would you have wanted to confront him over the phone, Kyle? I find that hard to believe given the nature of his actions... they deserve a face to face conversation."

Fidgeting, Kyle gave him a look of deep disdain. "I don't want to confront him at all."

"You'd prefer to continue walking around with him inside your head?" Craig adjusted the rear view mirror. "What kind of life is that?"

"Preferable to having you inside my head," Kyle muttered, muscles softening as the medicine began to uncurl inside him. Relaxing against the seat, he watched the trees fly by in shadow-dark bunches. He sighed. "But you're already there, sitting beside him. You made sure of that."

Silence fell between them then, the car ambling its course in a hypnotic thrum, soft music playing. Kyle was on the cusp of sleep when Craig spoke quietly; thoughtful:

"I suppose I've influenced you, haven't I?"

"Only a little," Kyle replied, fingers sliding up to touch his collar briefly. With a soft exhale he allowed his eyes to shut. 

Kyle flitted in and out of a chemical stupor for the first leg of the journey, only rousing when Craig stopped for food; fast food burgers that they ate at a deserted rest stop. Kyle was wearing a sweater with a high collar to hide his neck, but Craig kept a sharp lookout nonetheless. 

The grasses swayed and smelled sweet in the warm sun, reinforcing Kyle's drowsiness. Soon, he pushed his unfinished food aside and lay his head on his folded arms, eyes closed. 

"We should be clearing West Virginia soon," Craig spoke. "We're making great time, even with the traffic."

Kyle hummed softly, too tired to make a proper response. He didn't want to think about the journey because it meant considering their destination; an inevitability that he couldn't confront yet. 

"We should just sleep at rest stops along the way," Craig continued, seemingly amused at the notion. "Deal with less people, you know? Even save a little money."

"That's a great way to get murdered in the middle of the night," Kyle yawned behind his hand. "Sleeping in your car in the middle of nowhere is really dangerous."

"I'd like to think I could protect you, Kyle."

"Hmm," Kyle almost laughed, "I almost forgot who I'm traveling with; why am I even worried?"

"But," Craig said, clearly amused in his own right, "if we did that, it'd be very difficult to secure you, so to speak. Right?"

Sitting up, Kyle gave him a sharp look. "Where would I even go? Am I just supposed to wander the highway until someone's willing to pick me up and carry me away?"

Staring, Craig popped a fry in his mouth. "Is that your plan?"

Chilled at how casually the question was posed, Kyle attempted artifice. "I'd be safer in a stranger's car than yours, wouldn't i?" Biting his cheek, he added, "if you're still this paranoid then why are we doing this? Why run the risk?"

"We need to shut the door on the past in order to realize the future, and you yourself admitted that Stan is the proverbial boulder on your shoulders, so," he shrugged, wiping his mouth, "let's remove it. Besides, and this may come back to bite me on the ass, I feel pretty confident that you won't try to run." Grey eyes settled on Kyle, firm and cool with conviction. "And if you did, I'd find you. I'll always find you, Kyle."

They ended up staying in an out of the way motel that night, situated in Ohio and far off the beaten path. It was late and they had to rouse the owner from sleep to obtain a room; the space smelling of wet dog that made Kyle's nose crinkle. Craig didn't mention it, but the look on his face told Kyle that he'd noticed as well. 

"Too bad we couldn't have flown," Kyle muttered as he drowsily undressed down to his briefs and undershirt. "But that would've been out of the question, right?"

"You know the answer to that question," Craig replied, lounging on the saggy bed in just his boxer briefs. He stretched, tensing his wide shoulders and making his tattoos seem to ripple across his skin. Kyle watched, fascinated, not even realizing it until he shook his head, cheeks warming. 

"Yeah, I never would've made it through security," he said, indicating the collar. "What a tragedy that would've been."

A hint of a smile tugged Craig's mouth before he slowly opened his arms, a graceful gesture. "Come here," he said sounding warm and very pleased. 

He sounded even more pleased when Kyle, the obedient version, only hesitated a moment before going to him and crawling to rest his head on Craig's chest, firm and smelling of clean sweat, evidence of the day's labors and warm sunshine. He spoke against Kyle's hair, stroking his arm. 

"My Kyle," softly, like a breath, and the sound of it was enough to make the boy in his arms shiver somewhere down deep in his bones; entranced even as he detached, eyes fixed on the water-damaged ceiling. 

The rest of the trip was full of country backroads and traveling through endless fields, corn, wheat; lonely farmhouses on the horizon and sad-eyed animals standing in the sun and grazing, occasionally looking up to see their car pass. The people looked much the same, watching with hands raised to shield their faces from the harsh light, the wind blowing endlessly over the prairies; swaying grasses hypnotic like the sea and punctuated with bright snatches of wildflowers. 

Kyle watched it all pass between instances of slumber, occasionally waking to eat or for bathroom breaks, usually roused with Craig's large hand resting lightly on his thigh and making the skin beneath his jeans hot and damp. He dreamed frequently, disquieting visions of guns blooming fire and floors covered in shards of glass and smooth masks; digging up more bones on more white beaches. He gasped awake sometimes, usually in the middle of the night before they stopped, and he stared out the window at the deep sky; heralding eternity and reminiscent of the vastness of his warped, tired mind. 

It wasn't lost on him that the dreams were increasing the closer they got to their destination; increasing and becoming more frantic; vengeful, bloodthirsty little things that enjoyed feeding on any tranquility he could muster. Rather than fight them, though, perhaps refusing to sleep at all, he became more reserved and withdrawn, eating even less than usual and sitting tensed until his muscles and bones ached deeply; bowstrings strung so tightly they could snap and draw blood. 

Craig noticed, of course, this change in his companion, and instead of berating Kyle for it tried to ease him through his fears with treats and attempts to coddle.

"I know you like Rainier cherries," Craig said, offering the bag of red-golden fruit to Kyle; the sky starlit above them as the car idled in a grocery store parking lot in Kansas. "Come on, you've barely eaten anything all day."

"For good reason," Kyle snapped, glaring at the fruit and resisting the urge to reach out and take one, or knock the whole bag out of Craig's hands. "My stomach is fucked, Craig. I can't get comfortable with any of this."

"Even with your medication?"

"I could have a whole bottle of Ativan in me right now and I still wouldn't be able to settle." Impetuously, he reached over and grabbed Craig's shirt, whole body taut with his desperation. "Please, let's just turn around now, okay? I'll do anything, I'll -"

"No."

Kyle shuddered at the whip-crack finality of Craig's tone, felt all through his bones; muscles in his stomach aching like he'd been punched. Defiance rose in him, becoming acid. 

"I could just tell them everything when we get there," he said, "being kidnapped, held prisoner, the collar... everything. And you'll only have yourself to blame because you stupidly put us in the fucking situation in the first place." He laughed, still holding onto Craig's shirt with shaking hands. "Not to mention the dead boy, how could I forget?"

"Yes, how could you forget?" Craig asked quietly, picking up a cherry and studying it before snapping its stem. He glanced at Kyle, eyes suddenly cool. "And of course I've considered the fact that you might say something, but have you considered the fact that your actions have consequences? Haven't you learned anything?"

"Of course I have," Kyle muttered. "You've made sure of that, but -"

"Think of it," Craig sighed, eating the cherry now, chewing, swallowing; throat moving slightly. Kyle stared. "Stan's family lives far away from town, a lonely, little house in wide, open country... sound carries but not far enough. If something were to happen, I doubt anyone would come looking for awhile."

Growing cold, Kyle looked away, shielding his eyes from the bright, caustic light of a large street lamp. 

"They have nothing to do with this," he said, "Wendy, the baby. Really, Stan isn't part of this either -"

"You know he is, and I have no desire to get Wendy or the child involved. They're innocent."

"But you said -"

"If it's necessary, Kyle. Only then. Do you understand?" Craig's voice was gentle now, a fragile little thing even though his words were jagged knife points. 

Kyle turned and bowed his head, exhausted and feeling the fire dying low inside of him, nearly gone now. Yes, he'd learned, hadn't he? His mind's eye conjured up a boy on his knees, eyes blown wide and accusing him; brains rearranged inside his head. He was nothing but ash now, swallowed and licked clean by the ocean. 

"Good boy," Craig murmured, delicately pressing a cool, fragrant cherry against Kyle's lips. "Eat for me, okay?"

Kyle did, chewing slowly as the sweetness flooded him, rich like wine; teeth snapping through tight skin. For a moment, he wished it were Craig's before his mind muddled; complacency taking over. 

"We'll be there soon," Craig assured him, starting the car again and offering Kyle another piece of fruit. This time he accepted it without argument. 

The farm, sprawling and wild, was bathed in the burning hues of sunset when Craig and Kyle arrived; orange, red, violet shadows stretching long. The mountains, jagged in the distance, brushed the sky with snow-crested tops, summits appearing bloody in the dying light. 

Kyle curled into himself as they traversed the long, winding road leading to the farm, the past, really, hands pressed to his mouth; chest tight with such a deep longing that it was hard to catch his breath. 

"I haven't been here in so long," he said, muffled and small. "I never thought I'd come back."

Craig, indulgent, touched the curve of Kyle's cheek. "Is it the same?"

"Almost," Kyle breathed, fingers moist with his breath, which was coming faster in his growing panic. "But not quite."

The fields weren't as well-kept, he noticed, stretching to the horizon in green-gold waves, overrun with shadows. The woods, lush tall trees like arrows, ringed the property, and Kyle could imagine the clearing from years ago where the fire had burned; the night everything had changed into something ugly and hidden. He turned away quickly to consider the farmhouse instead; small, amber squares of light burning through the gathering dusk. The structure almost resembled a boat on a still sea.

His pulse thudded in his throat while wild animal fear ran rampant, sweat dampening his underarms and forehead. Looking to Craig, Kyle had to stop himself from clinging to him, wanting to thank him for removing the collar before they'd arrived. The shame was alive with the fear now, and feeling unhinged, he had to wonder if he'd even have the stomach to tell Stan the truth of everything. How he'd fallen so far, been so foolish; had somehow allowed himself to become ensnared and reduced to whatever he was now. 

"I'm not the same," he whispered, unwilling to open the door when Craig stopped and shut off the car. "Will he notice? What will he say? What if -"

"What he thinks doesn't matter anymore," Craig said, kissing Kyle's temple before climbing out. He rounded the car and opened the door himself, offering his hand, smiling. "Shall we?"

Kyle was going to refuse, bite at him like a foolish little feral creature, when the front door of the warmly-lit house opened, and then -

The figure that emerged was back-lit so Kyle couldn't see their face directly, but he knew, by feel alone who it was. The longing that had been growing, trapped, beneath his breastbone seared him now. Hypnotized by this vision, he ignored Craig's hand and climbed out, beginning to move toward the house, the light, like he was answering a siren call. His shoes rustled the grasses, the evening winds moved through his hair, and in the breeze he could smell a distant fire burning far away. 

He was nearly a child again when he saw Stan's face again after so long, and when they embraced it was too sweet, too overwhelming for a moment for him to speak. Instead, he clung to him and just tried to take him in, his smell, his presence, the feeling of him; solid but almost feeling like a vapor that could slip through his fingers. Kyle laid his face against Stan's chest and just wanted to sob, offer himself, but somehow he refrained; lulled by aromas of cologne, warm grasses, and woodsmoke.

Stan, for his part, allowed this contact for long moments until his posture changed, a faint rigidity moving through his muscles. Kyle felt it and moved away, averting his eyes until Stan spoke. 

"I'm so glad you're here," he said softly. He laughed lowly, a small, shuddering sound. "I was afraid...well, you know. I've asked before and we've never gotten this far, so."

"I'm finally here," Kyle replied, daring to look into Stan's face properly now, amazed once again that just looking at him was enough to burn; fingertips held against candlelight. Still, he couldn't help himself. He drank in the deep blue eyes, laugh lines threading out from them in tanned skin, the high cheekbones... the soft mouth curved into a genuine smile just for him. As always, Stan's dark hair was too long, and Kyle resisted the temptation to brush it from his forehead. 

They gazed at each other for a time displaced, possibly set in an alternate universe where Kyle was returning to his own home, until the reverie and dream broke apart, and Kyle felt an arm slide around his middle, pulling him close. Likewise, the farmhouse door opened and a woman's voice carried on the wind to them:

"Stan, have them come inside; it's getting chilly out there."

Stan didn't answer for a moment, staring instead at Craig, at the way he held Kyle to his side. Eyes narrowed, he finally seemed to awaken and he called over his shoulder. 

"We'll be in, Wendy. Gotta help Kyle and his friend with their bags."

"Well, hurry up. Dinner's almost ready." To Kyle, Wendy lifted her voice, the tone becoming vaguely sweeter. "I'd come out, Kyle, but I have to feed the baby before we eat. It's nice to see you again."

"I understand," Kyle replied, trying to overlook the inherent kindness of Stan's wife; always so good and accommodating. "Nice to see you, too."

The storm door swung shut as Stan continued to consider the pair standing in his yard, though his eyes skipped from Kyle to Craig quite readily. His mouth twitched into the semblance of a smile. 

"Kyle, are you going to introduce us?"

"I'm Craig." Stepping forward, he offered his hand and Stan took it, the two exchanging a brief shake; two tense pumps up and down. "Kyle's friend. No need for introductions... Kyle's told me all about you." He emphasized the words with a little curl at the end that made Kyle cringe. 

Stan stared before he began to roll up the sleeves of his blue button-up, revealing strong forearms. 

"It's a pleasure." He glanced at Kyle, eyebrows raised. "Your bags?"

"Yeah, over here," Kyle managed to say through a tight throat. He gestured toward the car. "I'll show you."

Before moving, Stan gave Craig another look, his teeth working his bottom lip. "You look familiar to me. How did you two meet, by the way?"

"Oh, there's time enough to get into all of that," Craig replied, some of the tightness in his bearing easing until he almost appeared cheerful. "Right, Kyle?"

"I suppose," Kyle sighed, ignoring Stan's scrutiny; heavy from it and Craig's arm still draped around his waist. 

Stan laughed, a short sound like a gunshot. It didn't exactly smack of humor. "Of course. Don't want to jump the gun, right? Let's get in and settled and then we can talk."

Shivering, Kyle looked back at the house that just before had almost seemed a time-worn refuge, that faraway boat on the sea. Now it felt a little darker as the sun finally set completely, made more so when abruptly, the shrill sound of a baby wailing could be heard, cutting across the evening and raising goosebumps on his arms. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning - smut and gaslighting out the ass. Also, I consider this non-con or very, very dubious consent, so beware. In the context of this story, I don't think Kyle's in a place to really advocate for himself. 
> 
> I had way too much fun with this part, I think. I love chapters filled with dialogue and innuendo so this was a lark. Also, it's been a while since I've written anything racy... what can I say? I'm a pervert. 🤷♀️
> 
> Hopefully, Stan is okay. I almost never write him bc he's not one of my favorites... but Wendy, man, she's always fun. 😄
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY!! ❤❤
> 
> PS - thank you for the comments on the last chapter!! Ahh, you guys are just the living end. 🤗

_ **Winds may blow over the icy sea** _   
_ **I'll take with me the warmth of thee** _   
_ **A taste of honey** _   
_ **A taste much sweeter than wine** _

_ **I will return** _   
_ **I'll return** _   
_ **I'll come back for the honey and you** _

_ **-A Taste of Honey, Peggy Lee** _

* * *

The front room was drenched in firelight when they stepped out of the cool night; filled with warmth and appearing eerily similar to the way it had when they were children. It was rustic, hardwood floors and a large stone fireplace; family photos hanging on the walls. For a moment, Kyle could only stare around him, sure he'd stepped back in time, into his old skin, before he got his bearings and set his bag down slowly. 

"I'm sure Wendy will be down shortly," Stan said, also placing a bag on the floor, face soft with shadow. "We can take your stuff upstairs after dinner. That okay?"

Craig, who'd entered last, gently shut the door before turning toward them. He carried the bag that contained the chains and collar, a fact that made Kyle flush deeply, looking down to stare at the floor. 

"Sounds fine," Craig said, all smiles as he too discarded his bag with a soft sigh. He glanced around and nodded, seemingly pleased. "You have a nice place here."

"We're looking to redecorate," Stan replied, not unfriendly but not warm either. "It's all a little outdated." He cleared his throat abruptly. "Can I get you guys something to drink? Kyle?"

Looking up, startled, Kyle shot a glance at Craig before reluctantly meeting Stan's eyes. He watched, eyebrows raised. 

"Wine?" he asked. "I know you're partial to white zin, right?"

Another flick of his eyes to assess Craig's decision, minute, and when he nodded Kyle did as well. Stan turned away before calling over his shoulder. 

"Craig, what about you, man?"

"Beer's fine," Craig called, taking Kyle's hand before leading him to the sofa where they sat. 

"I've got ale."

Lifting Kyle's hand to his mouth, Craig kissed his knuckles carefully. "That's fine." To Kyle he added tenderly, "relax, you're doing fine."

Kyle remained silent, his back and shoulders so tense that he began to ache. When Stan returned, he paused for a moment to stare at them before slowly approaching, handing Kyle his glass and Craig a bottle. 

"Let me know if it's too hoppy," he said, taking a seat himself in a battered recliner. He gave Craig a look before drinking from his own bottle. "I can get you something else."

"This is great, thanks," Craig smiled, taking a short sip. He nudged Kyle gently when he didn't drink, having looked away to gaze into the fire, crackling and snapping. "You okay?"

"Oh, yes," Kyle said, quickly drinking, so nervous he spilled a little. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Sorry, traveling makes me so tired."

"Why didn't you fly?" Stan asked, crossing his jean-clad legs. "That's kind of a long drive, right? From Baltimore?"

"We made it in about three days," Craig said, easing himself back and getting comfortable. "Not too bad. It's pretty much a straight shot."

"But, still, what's the point?" Stan drank again. "Besides, Kyle, you hate driving."

"I didn't drive," Kyle said softly, cradling his drink when really he wanted to knock it back and ask for more. "Craig did...I was just along for the ride, I guess."

Stan was silent until Kyle looked at him, unnerved by the quiet, by the way he stared at them. Their eyes caught and Stan didn't look away, making Kyle feel like he was slowly being undressed. Suddenly, he felt far too warm, and he almost cried out when Craig's hand settled on the small of his back. 

"God, that kid takes forever to settle," Wendy groaned, coming down the stairs and into the room, long, dark hair tied into a loose bun on her head, one shoulder bare in a cropped sweater, slender legs clad in black yoga pants. Her feet were bare. She sighed long, clearly exhausted, as she sank onto the arm of the recliner next to Stan, though she didn't lean into him. "I'm so ready to be done with today."

"Is dinner ready, babe?" Stan asked, reaching to rub her back, a languid, almost thoughtless gesture. 

Shifting, Wendy tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. "Pretty much." Looking at Kyle, she appeared apologetic. "It's nothing fancy, I'm afraid... just pot roast and veggies. But there's homemade bread."

"Wends has been on a baking kick lately," Stan said, almost smirking. 

Standing, she stretched her hands toward the ceiling, revealing a pale abdomen with trails of frail pink scars. "Maternity leave is a long time... if I don't do something to occupy my mind I'll lose it." Righting herself, she studied Craig. "I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced, have we?"

"In a way, we have," Craig said, standing as well and helping Kyle to his feet. "We knew each other as children, before I moved away."

"That's it," Stan snapped his fingers. "I knew you were familiar." He frowned. "It's hard to remember clearly, though... but it's been a long time, I guess."

"Very long," Craig said, once again pressing a hand to the small of Kyle's back, gently guiding him when he balked. "I left when I was 14... it's been quite a while."

"I still can't place you," Wendy said, leading the way into the dining room, voice sincere with apology. "So many people drifted away as we got older... and adulthood has a way of clouding memories."

"That it does," Craig agreed, hovering close to Kyle as they both appraised the table, waiting for instructions. "We get older and our minds turn to other things; inevitably, our priorities change, the things we choose to hold onto." 

Almost wincing, Kyle felt Craig slowly stroke his back, carefully out of sight of Stan and Wendy. 

"Where are my manners?" Wendy asked suddenly, gesturing to two seats next to each other. "Please, sit. I'll get the food. Stan, check to see if they need more drinks, huh?"

"Top you off, guys?" he asked, setting down his own bottle, which was nearly empty. 

"I'm fine," Craig replied. "Kyle?"

Kyle had nearly finished his glass but wasn't sure if Craig would be open to him having another. They shared a glance and Craig gave him an indulgent, fatherly expression. 

"Go ahead," he said, pulling out their chairs. Wordlessly, he passed the glass to Stan who lingered for a moment before moving into the kitchen behind Wendy. 

Letting out a long, tight breath Kyle sat and studied the room, low-lit and cozy, the oak table dominating the space. In many ways, this place was unchanged as well, pulling a strange sensation in Kyle's gut, almost wounded with whimsy and nostalgia. He tried to slow his breaths, to calm himself, almost wishing the collar was around his throat so it'd be easier to behave, to not say something untoward -

To curb his impulses, the way his heart was a dizzying, clawing creature in his chest whenever he looked at Stan... how it equally sped up when he was caught in Craig's sights and it was almost like he was reading his mind and chastising him without words. 

Craig hummed softly, a fragile little gush of breath, and moved closer, his warmth and scent ghosting over Kyle. "You're fine."

"I'll be better after I've had more wine."

"You'll behave," Craig murmured, dropping a hand to Kyle's thigh under the table and squeezing, "and you certainly won't get drunk. Do you understand?"

"Tipsy, then," Kyle almost pleaded under his breath. 

Craig was quiet, then, "relaxed, but no more. Your words get away from you when you've fallen into the bottle."

When Stan and Wendy returned, Stan brought the wine bottle with him. "Just in case," he said, giving Kyle a grin. 

"Pour me some, will you?" Wendy asked, passing around a platter of roast, neatly sliced. "And don't be stingy."

Kyle and Stan shared another look, but this time he couldn't read his friend's expression. Stan, for his part, was very slow to pour the drink and pass it to his wife. She drank it and sighed, reaching up to pull her hair out of its bun so it cascaded around her shoulders.

"That's better," she said. 

"I take it the baby is asleep?" Craig asked unnecessarily, helping himself to a generous portion of meat and vegetables; a scattering of red roasted potatoes. 

"Finally," Wendy replied, taking another drink and very little food for herself. "She's been fussy all day... for weeks, really. It has to be colic."

Stan, who'd been swirling the ale in a fresh bottle, didn't look up from his full plate when he spoke. "That's why we shouldn't have gone with formula, hon. I mean, the pediatrician said -"

"Don't start with that," Wendy cut him off before lifting the bread basket and offering it with a smile to Kyle. "Try some, I think I'm getting better."

"Thank you," Kyle said, taking the basket, noticing the purplish shadows under Wendy's plum-colored eyes. She had the remnants of makeup on her face, eyeliner and some gloss, but otherwise she looked exhausted. Taking a bite of the white bread, he was taken aback at how dry it was, making it hard to swallow. He managed, but took a small sip of wine afterward. "It's delicious," he lied, "I've never tried making bread from scratch before."

"He's become a very good cook over the past few months, though," Craig chimed in, also taking a bite of bread and then discreetly placing the rest on the edge of his plate. Clearing his throat, he continued, "you should let him cook for you before we leave."

Coloring, Kyle averted his eyes, horrified at the bloom of warmth he felt at the praise. He shook his head but before he could deny the compliment or suggestion, Stan was speaking. 

"We're planning on grilling out one of these nights," he said, "you could help then." He paused. "So, um, just how long have you two been together that Kyle's had time to become a master chef?"

Lifting his eyes, Kyle could tell that Stan was already tipsy, if the slur in his words was any indication. Had he been drinking even before they'd arrived or was his tolerance bullshit?

"Uh," he groped for words, honestly not sure how long he'd been trapped by Craig, embarrassed that an answer wasn't forthcoming. At some point it just hadn't seemed to matter anymore, so the days had run together like a saturated watercolor painting. It could be spring, summer... the end would be the same, wouldn't it? "Well..."

"It's okay, baby," Craig soothed, patting Kyle's hand, easily taking over as he was apt to do. He looked at Stan warmly. "We've been together since November, give or take." Squeezing Kyle's hand softly, he added, almost dreamily, "but it feels much longer than that... at least for me." He laughed lightly. "And I mean that in the best possible way, of course."

Silence descended, save for Wendy pushing the food around her plate and the whoosh of Kyle's heartbeat in his ears, frantic. Craig's knack for making mundane tabletalk sound disconcerting never failed to surprise him. In his peripheral, he could see Stan giving Craig a hard look before he drank more ale, setting it aside to shove a potato between his lips. 

Kyle, for his part, attempted to eat, but found the food as lacking as the bread; the roast tough and bland, the potatoes undercooked. As elated as he wanted to be that Wendy wasn't as perfect as she'd always seemed, he just felt embarrassed and ungrateful. Instead, he ate slowly, chewing each bite much longer than necessary. 

The tension finally broke when Wendy, after taking a long sip of her wine, laid her fork down with a soft clatter.

"I think that's really nice, that you two reconnected," she said so sweetly that Kyle felt even worse for not liking her cooking. "More wine, Kyle?"

"One more should be fine," Craig said, handing over the glass. 

Now Stan's look of disapproval was completely open, eyes so sharp they could cut and draw blood if need be. Kyle's heart ramped up even more, like it wanted to bore a hole through his sternum. If Craig noticed he didn't say anything, continuing to eat serenely. 

"This is wonderful," he said to Wendy, his tone honeyed. "Really, to be taking care of a baby and also cooking a full spread for two interlopers -"

"Kyle isn't an interloper," Stan interjected, voice thick. "He's always welcome. It's just harder than hell to get him out here... he's always been so fucking stubborn."

"Stan," Wendy said quietly. She smiled at Kyle and Craig, a hint of apology in the gesture. She tapped Stan's bottle of ale. "Maybe you should have some water instead."

"Yeah, sure," he sighed, running a hand through his hair and disheveling it further. "I meant it as a compliment, dude... and I don't want to get on your ass, but you have to admit you're hard to pin down."

Kyle flinched at the sudden quirk of Craig's lips, setting his fork down and sliding his plate away. "No, you're right...I always found a reason not to come visit, huh? Work or traveling for work... it was never because of anything important, you know?"

"We both know that isn't true," Craig said, taking another bite of roast and diligently chewing. 

Kyle wanted to sink through the floor at those words, even more so when he saw the affect they had on Stan, but then Wendy was back with a glass of ice water for her husband and the moment cracked like a mirror, some of the cloying heaviness of it abating. She looked at Kyle's plate and frowned, appearing more sad than displeased.

"Is the food not okay? I mean, I know I overcooked the meat, and - "

"No, no. The food is fine, I'm just -" Kyle shrugged, almost laughing now from what felt like sleepy, overtaxed delirium, "I'm so tired and it's so strange being back here, where we all started. I guess I'm just getting used to things."

"Oh, honey," she said, almost breathing the words, bordering on a sigh. "Did you just want to go to bed? No one would be mad if you turned in... you've had such a long trip."

"No, I'll be fine, and besides, I want to help clear things away. You've already gone to so much trouble." Shaking, Kyle began to gather some dishes, his new, learned instincts kicking in to clean and dote. He could feel Craig watching him with what had to be pride. 

"You don't need to do that," she insisted, "Stan, tell him, he's a guest, and -"

"I'll help him, if that's what he wants," Stan cut her off, also stacking dishes. Kyle looked up, surprised, to see Stan and Wendy sharing a look before he finally kissed her, a perfunctory brush of lips against her temple. "Okay?"

Sitting back, she bent her legs so her knees were drawn to her chest. Face tight, she drank more wine and assumed a passive expression. "Fine. You two go ahead. I'll just get better acquainted with Craig." She shot him a look. 

"It'd be a pleasure," he said, still eating. "And don't be so hard on yourself, Wendy... the food is superb. I'll probably need seconds."

On unsteady legs, Kyle rose and lifted a stack of plates, watching as Stan did the same. Shyly, he waited until Stan looked at him and tipped his head toward the doorway. 

_Follow_, he instructed without words, and Kyle did so. 

The kitchen was too bright after the dimly lit dining room, but Kyle wore a smile and endured, merely overcome, elated, at being so close to Stan again. For a moment, he could only look at Stan's back as he stood at the sink, long torso, wide shoulders... strong arms evident even under his shirt. Setting the dishes down, Kyle felt weak, eyes straying over the way Stan's dark hair fell over his nape... unruly, wild -

"Come over here," Stan broke into his thoughts, looking over his shoulder. "The water's ready."

Silently, Kyle obeyed, rolling up the sleeves of his high-necked sweater, suddenly very aware of the bruises on his throat that Stan couldn't see, but if he wanted he could show him... could open up his mouth and just....

"You didn't eat very much," Stan said playfully. Accepting a dish from Kyle, he plunged it into the hot, sudsy water. "Not very hungry, huh?"

Kyle watched the way Stan's large, callused hands, reminiscent of Craig's, washed the plate; tanned but beautiful. He could vividly recall the way those hands had felt on him, though the sensation had been achingly brief. He shook his head, trying to ground himself. 

"Nerves," he offered, handing another dish over. "You know how i am, and I've never had a big appetite."

"Is that why you're so skinny?" Stan asked abruptly, having never been the type to censor himself where Kyle was concerned. "You've lost weight since the reunion. A lot. I almost didn't recognize you."

Worrying teeth scraped at his bottom lip before he answered. Oddly, Kyle resented this inquiry while relishing it. Stan had noticed him, could see the changes... it was dizzying, exhilarating -

Sick. So _sick_. But Kyle still felt a stirring within him, deep, down in the darkest, most agonized places that dreamed of pleasure and a release; however it presented itself. He took a breath before answering. 

"I've been stressed."

"By what?"

"What does it matter?" Kyle asked, affecting indifference and turning away to grab another dish. He gasped when a hand circled his wrist, pulling him back; so much that he almost yelled and dropped the article in his hands. 

"It matters a lot," Stan said, holding him tight and seeming to loom over him, so much bigger... he'd always been so much healthier in stature, strong, intimidating though his nature was so sensitive. 

Kyle stared up at him, eyes blown wide and lips parted, not sure if he was waiting to be struck or chastised, and he almost sobbed at the notion, how far his mind had fallen into chaos. Trembling, he could only speak Stan's name, and even that was exhausting. 

Smiling, Stan slowly let him go, rubbing a thumb along the curvature of Kyle's wrist. But passively, he accepted the dish that he was given. "It's okay if you don't like Wendy's cooking," he said conspiratorialy, "it takes some getting used to." Leaning closer, Kyle could catch the scent of his aftershave; old spice, no doubt. Affordable, unassuming. 

There was heat pooling low in him, in his belly, his thighs... the hot place between his legs, but Kyle held onto his composure. It wouldn't do to give into his desires... it'd never served him in the past, and besides, Craig was in the other room, no doubt acutely aware of Kyle's absence, his proximity to his old, burning flame. He gulped, mouth far too wet for comfort.

"Dinner was good," he said. "Don't be so hard on Wendy. It's obvious she tried."

"Oh, she tried, I know she tried," Stan said, amused. "That's the scary part."

Turning his head, Kyle wanted to laugh but he couldn't, it was just too cruel. Instead, he dipped his hand in the water and flicked some at Stan. 

"You're terrible," he said with a sniff. "You know that, right?"

"Of course I do, and you love it."

"Oh, please," Kyle huffed, giddy and moving just a fraction closer until their shoulders were nearly touching. He held his breath, relishing the heat rolling off of Stan, his presence, so solid and real; no longer just a fever dream. 

"Does he always boss you around like that?" Stan asked, handing Kyle a plate to dry, hands touching and making Kyle feel electric, skin tingling.

Startled, Kyle lost the plate, slippery porcelain sliding through his fingers. He yelped, waiting for a crash when Stan stepped in to grab it, placing it gently on the counter and peering down at Kyle, eyebrows drawn. 

"That was close." 

"Good catch," Kyle muttered, leaning against the counter, his hands in his hair. 

Crossing his arms, Stan came around to stand before him, still far too close for Kyle's comfort. "You gonna answer my question?"

He glanced up, once more caught in the pull of Stan's gaze, eyes so dark blue even if the whites were slightly bloodshot... crazily, he wanted to lean forward and just rest his cheek against Stan's front, be in his arms and held close... creep his fingers into his shirt and feel his skin, taste it with his tongue, lips skimming -

God, how he _wanted_. Craved. Yearned to touch and be touched. He stayed still, though, his instincts dulled since their time apart, after having been put through his paces with Craig. 

Hatefully, he obeyed like the good little puppy he was -

_Good boy_, he could almost hear Craig whispering against his ear. _Such a good, good boy_. 

He shivered, eyes closing before Stan was pulling him to the surface with soft hands on his shoulders. 

"Kyle?" he shook him slightly. He studied him, frowning, sharp jaw drawn tight under his dark stubble. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Kyle replied, eyes fluttering. Covertly, he tried to lean into Stan's touch a little more, skin deliciously hot under his sweater. 

"You kind of went away for a moment there." Sighing, Stan hung his head before drawing back, placing a hand over his eyes. Kyle felt imbalanced with his presence gone, almost floundering for a moment before he caught himself. 

"Look," Stan said, deep voice dropping to a low rumble, "I'm sorry if I said something I shouldn't, okay? If you don't want to answer my questions, that's fine. I get it."

"No, you don't," Kyle murmured. "You really don't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Stan almost snapped, making Kyle cringe against the counter, bony hip digging into the wood. "And why are you acting like you're afraid of me? Like you're afraid of everything? Kyle -"

Sudden music interrupted his questioning, lilting and dreamlike as it wafted into the room, followed by a woman's sultry voice -

_"Strawberries, cherries, and an angel's kiss in spring... my summer wine is really made from all these things..."*_

"Christ," Stan groaned, covering his face completely now. "It begins."

"Huh?" Kyle asked, cocking his head, disoriented by the music, by everything, really. 

"Oh, Wendy's had too much wine... she always puts on Nancy Sinatra when she's tipsy. It's her moody music." He sighed deeply, the sound almost painful, like it was being dredged from the deepest part of himself. "She's been like this for months, ever since -"

It was then that Craig entered the room carrying a stack of plates, his demeanor as unruffled as before. "How are you two doing in here?"

Trying to be as discreet as possible, Kyle moved away from Stan, when really he just wanted to reach out and take a hold of him, cling, reassure him and take the weariness from his demeanor. Catching Craig's eye, he wasn't surprised that he was being watched, and closely, so closely. It was as if he was naked, shaking, nerves raw and exposed to his bones. 

Stan uncovered his face and became aloof, his posture and energy changing until it was like he'd left the room. Any intimacy that had been achieved between him and Kyle was cut off, so much that Kyle felt the loss of it acutely, leaving him nearly aching and fumbling; adrift. 

"We're almost done," Stan said, turning to the sink and plunging his hands in what had to be tepid water at this point. "How's it going out there?"

Setting the dishes down, Craig's tone was cavalier but kind. "Wendy was telling me about work... or what she misses about it, anyway. Now she's sitting next to the fire and singing." He paused like he was ruminating. "I think she's pretty content, actually, but what do I know?"

Stan merely sighed, leaning on the counter with his shoulders bunching up near his ears. He dropped his head, dark hair once more falling into his eyes the way Kyle so adored. "Great, it's gonna be one of those nights."

Craig gave Kyle a knowing look he couldn't interpret. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to upset you."

"No, I know," Stan replied, sounding bone tired. He looked at Kyle and just seemed to study him for a moment, like he was a person he couldn't quite place. "If you guys just wanted to call it a night I wouldn't be pissed, you know? It's late and all."

Craig stepped in before Kyle could speak, the very image of sacrifice and understanding. "We can't just leave you with this mess. Not after you've been so welcoming... it isn't right."

"Oh, to hell with what's right," Stan muttered, scrubbing a dish like he wanted to hurt it. "The night's shot and we aren't getting anywhere."

Blood pulsing, Kyle stepped toward him, a hand lifted to touch his arm though he managed to refrain. "Stan -"

"Your room is at the top of the stairs, first door on the left," Stan interjected curtly. "You can't miss it. Sorry, I'd take you up myself but I've got shit to do... as you can plainly see."

"That's why we want to help," Kyle said quietly. 

The music trickled into the room like summer rainfall before Stan answered, and now his voice had gentled; come back to itself. For a moment, he sounded like he had at 17, when he'd laid Kyle down beside a burning campfire and claimed him... whether he'd realized it or not. 

"Go," he said, his tone like a caress on Kyle's cheek. "It's alright. I promise. Besides, I'd like a moment alone."

Aching, Kyle had to stop himself from going to him, chewing the tender skin of his cheek until he tasted metallic threads. "Well, if you're sure..."

"Kyle," Craig said, "leave him be. You look like you're about to fall asleep on your feet, anyway."

Becoming even more rigid, Stan glanced over his shoulder, the look in his eyes like a smolder, unconcealed threat in them. He stared at Craig but he only gazed back, unflinching and unnervingly stoic. Kyle felt nauseous, his middle tied into hard knots. 

"Fine," he said, just wanting to be away, to hide until he could get his bearings, "let's go. It's been such a long day."

The room they'd been given was homey and old fashioned like the rest of the place, the bed made of brass with an elaborate, swirling headboard. Craig smiled when he saw it, and Kyle knew it was because it afforded so many places to attach his cuffs. He set their bags down and looked at Kyle lovingly, still maintaining the same air of peace he had the entire evening. 

"We should shower, don't you think? Wash off the dust of the day?"

It took a second for Kyle to register the question, still thinking of Wendy sitting on the floor next to the fireplace and gazing into it as her music played, cheek resting on her knee. She'd smiled and wished them good night as they'd retired upstairs, but something about her had seemed so off, so different from her usual poise... her almost infallible dignity. He just couldn't understand the change. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his arm that he heard Craig at all. 

"Huh?" he asked, almost feeling groggy.

"A shower," Craig repeated, "we should take one. Get undressed."

Kyle still felt dazed even after he'd stepped into the heat-fogged shower several minutes later, the bathroom attached to their room and decorated in a seaside motif. The porcelain under his feet had remnants of skid-resistant ducks on it, bringing thoughts of childhood and days long passed even more to the forefront of his tired mind. He nearly moaned when the hot water hit him, immediately turning his pale skin red; making his thick curls collapse against his neck. He tilted his face toward the spray and opened his mouth, wanting to just fade away.

But how could he when arms were being wound around his middle and tugging him close, a low, deep voice speaking in his ear and keeping him well-grounded in the confusing and disconcerting present?

"That was an interesting dinner, wasn't it?" Craig asked, close to Kyle's ear. His wet chest was pressed to his back, hips flush against Kyle's backside. "I have to say, that's not how I thought things would play out. What about you?"

Silently, Kyle began to wash, working shampoo through his hair, utterly spent but feeling adrenaline thrumming through his veins; off-kilter and foggy. He just shrugged, closing his eyes when the feeling of Craig's semi-hard cock brushed him, hot and disquieting. What could he say? It was like he was peering behind the veil of Stan's life, the life he chose long ago, and he had no idea what to make of it. 

"I mean, he seems angry, she seems checked out, and," he added, nuzzling the curve of Kyle's neck, "he absolutely hates me. Can't you tell?"

"He barely even knows you," Kyle replied tightly, trying to step away but held fast, groaning when Craig's fingers sunk into his skin. Eyes watering, they were washed clean when he rinsed his hair. "Stan wouldn't just dislike you without a good reason... he isn't like that."

"Oh, but he has a good reason," Craig nearly purred, reaching around to stroke between Kyle's legs, sucking in some air when he felt the burgeoning hardness there. "He's _jealous_... he's so jealous he can barely stand it."

"That isn't true," Kyle panted, leaning against slick tiles and wanting to yank Craig's hand away, but he was so filled with want, a growing and painful need that ran under his skin and through his blood, red-hot, pulsing, and when he thought of Stan's eyes on him, those large hands slicked with soapy water....

Leaning forward, he moaned, Craig's hand tightening on him and moving upward, thumb sliding along the underside of velvet-soft, secret skin. He almost whined, the pain and desire in him so great that it clouded him, merging with the steam of the falling water. 

"I saw the way he looked at you," Craig murmured, placing his other hand on Kyle's belly to help keep him stable, fingers splayed and so, so warm. "All evening, and he knows he made a mistake choosing this life over you. He knows, Kyle. I promise."

Covering his mouth, Kyle had to choke back a sob, both from the sensation of being touched like this, succumbing, and contemplating that what Craig said was true. It shouldn't make him feel good, he shouldn't delight in the misery of someone he loved so fiercely, and yet....

In a dark, ugly place within him he gloried in the possibility that Stan could possibly ache for him, and this thought filled him with more fire and more heat and blood between his legs, cock so hard it was almost impossible to form coherent words. 

"You like that, don't you?" Craig asked, and Kyle couldn't be sure if he was asking about his hand between his legs or getting the best of Stan. All Kyle knew in that moment was that he didn't really care, finally giving himself over to baser, primal desires; an animal, raw need and lust personified. "Would you like it better if I used my mouth?"

Kyle nodded, almost crying behind his hand, and before he could really find his equilibrium, he found himself laid out on the brass bed, naked, moist skin pressed against a worn quilt, sun-damaged with age. The lights were dimmed, creating shadows in the corners of the ceiling and he focused on them, even as Craig spread his legs wide and kissed slowly along his trembling, soft inner thighs. He only shut his eyes when warm breath was ghosting over his cock, making it tighten... making his chest tighten where his heart throbbed, pushing heat through his veins. 

"Oh," he moaned, and it almost sounded like a desperate prayer, met with Craig's hands spreading him wider, thighs pushed to the bed and up, fingers in fragrant, sensitive skin. Kyle closed his eyes against the sensation and he saw Stan behind his eyelids, the way he'd looked at 17, the way he'd looked tonight; dark stubble on his cheeks, rounded biceps, heat like perfume radiating from him when he crowded close. 

"So good," Craig sighed, kissing higher and running his hands over Kyle's skin, worshipful, like he'd been granted a wish by a mythical force. His voice was husky and bittersweet, lost to what he was doing, a craving he was finally given permission to satiate. "So perfect, and he wants you, too. But he can't have you, can he?"

Now Kyle did begin to cry, softly, even when he felt Craig's hot mouth around him, the wetness engulfing him and making him arch, and this in itself was beautiful, even if it was unbearably, irrevocably wrong. Panting, he fisted the old quilt and pulled, head tilted back as a painful ecstacy coursed through him, and for a moment Kyle couldn't be sure who was between his legs... giving into fantasy even as it merged with his hateful, confusing reality. 

"Shhh," Craig murmured when a metallic sound emanated from the door, and Kyle felt his blood run cold, head shooting up to see the doorknob working slowly, a shadow under the door. It went on for several moments until he heard a soft sigh sift through the air and then footsteps moving away. Feeling boneless, he fell back against the bed, trying to find his breath even as Craig chuckled softly against his skin. 

"Don't worry," he said softly, teasing Kyle with his tongue again, tasting him, "I locked it...I had a feeling Stan would try to visit you tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Summer Wine - Nancy Sinatra


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments on the last chapter 😍😍
> 
> Sorry if this sucks; truly. I've been depressed lately, lol
> 
> Enjoy! ❤❤

It was early when Kyle woke the next morning, mouth dry and skin chilled. Somewhere downstairs he could hear the baby wailing, a shrill cry that struck a nerve in his mind he didn't realize he had. 

Shifting, the quilt fell and he saw his nakedness, and the night before flowed back...a warm mouth on him, kissing, tasting -

And he had laid back and given in, legs spread and pushed up; even after Stan had tried the door and finally given up, Kyle had bit his hand and succumbed until his body uncoiled, and Craig was lapping up the aftermath with an eager, skilled tongue. 

He shuddered, remembering, not just from the shame, but from the pure pleasure he'd felt. 

As ever, he tried to wipe his mind clean of these thoughts. It wouldn't do him any good to dwell at this point... he had given in, again, and it couldn't be undone. If anything, he was starting to think that he might as well get something from this arrangement that felt good... even if it was merely physical. 

This thought filled him with guilt, of course. 

Easy slut, his inner voice whispered, caustic. Craig has you coming and going, doesn't he? He owns you. 

Staring into space, Kyle could only nod, the baby's cry cutting into the room like a determined, particularly sharp weapon; slicing at his concentration. He almost put his hands over his ears to shut it out. 

"It's early," Craig whispered in a rough voice, pulling Kyle's focus. "Did you sleep okay?"

Turning, Kyle looked at him, lying on his belly and the blanket drawn down to expose his lean, pale back. Bars of sunlight fell through the venetian blinds across the bed, littering his skin with glowing stripes. Craig smiled, sleepy eyes crinkling at the corners when he touched Kyle's face. 

"Hey," he added, still soft; gentle. 

Blushing, Kyle didn't pull away, and not just because of his chains. Somehow, a shift had been created between them after the night before, and it made him feel weirdly shy. Exposed, yet malleable.

"Hi," he managed, but it was muffled by the blanket when he pulled it up to cover himself. They stared at each other until Craig lifted himself to slide closer, blanket dipping down to showcase his unclothed state. 

"Last night," he murmured, putting an arm across Kyle's belly and leaning over him, "it was amazing." Moving more, he eased a knee between Kyle's thighs so they spread and he could settle himself comfortably, covering him; hands cradling Kyle's face, thumbs stroking flushed, warm cheeks. Eyes darkening, he watched. 

"Don't you think?"

Heart pounding, the baby's wail faded out as Kyle grew accustomed to Craig's nakedness pressed against him; nude skins touching, brushing...warming together. He flushed darker, acutely aware of the man's hardness touching him, lying on his belly and so heavy. 

Horrified, Kyle could feel himself responding in kind, whether in terror or actual excitement, he couldn't say. He whimpered, pulling his chains until his wrists ached, arching involuntary, but this only seemed to wake up more desire in him; creating more raw contact and heat. 

"Please," he said, looking away, trying to concentrate on reason...clutching at his desperation for virtue, but it was elusive. 

"Please, what?" Craig asked, turning Kyle's head back so they could face each other. He raised a brow before a knowing look passed over his features. "You like when I touch you now, don't you?"

Sighing, he hummed and leaned to nuzzle Kyle's throat, breathing deeply. "It's okay to like this, Kyle. You know that, right? It doesn't make you a deviant or anything to want to be touched... to want to touch someone else."

Tilting his head back, Kyle had to blink back tears, a rush of anger moving through him because there was truth in Craig's words, and he hated it. 

"I imagined it was Stan last night, instead of you," he said casually, wanting to be hurtful; wanting to wound the way he'd been wounded. Besides, it was partially true... at the zenith of his body's response, Stan had been present in his mind, as he always seemed to be. 

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Craig breathed, still close and relaxed, drifting a hand down Kyle's side to settle on his hip, squeezing. "He'll always be a part of you. How can I fight that?"

"But -"

Kyle's words were cut off when Craig gave him a hard, close-mouthed kiss, hand hooking under his thigh to spread him further as he gently began to rut, sliding their cocks together until the friction was too much, making Kyle moan behind the pressure on his lips. Toes curling, he shut his eyes, becoming lost to this...sheets warm as he started to gently sweat. 

Pulling away, Craig laughed lightly next to Kyle's ear as he kept teasing him. "You aren't thinking about Stan right now, are you? I can tell."

Kyle's eyes snapped open at Craig's taunt. Angry enough to bear his teeth, he started twisting his body to force him off, infuriated that the chains made it so he couldn't use his fists. Easily, Craig held on, gazing down at him serenely, though he stopped rocking their bodies together. 

"You're so fucking sick!" Kyle yelled, rising as much as he could. "And you don't even care, do you? You get off on it!"

Panting, Kyle settled, squirming to feel the stickiness that had been created when Craig had rubbed against him; running along his belly. It almost made him want to cry, still so stimulated, aching with it -

Craig just kept watching until he was sure Kyle had calmed, brushing heavy curls from his face. "My Kyle, such a sweet boy... you always have been; you need to relax. You're overthinking things again. Sometimes it's okay just to enjoy something without giving it a reason."

"Under different circumstances, I'd agree with you," Kyle snapped, wanting to bite, yell, cry, fuck... all at the same time, a bevy of hot, angry, confused impulses overpowering him. Craig just had a knack at bringing out the demons crawling in him; secret, awful wants. How he hated it. 

A whisper of footsteps passing by made him pause, angry words dying in his mouth that he swallowed; skin prickled with unease. Craig cocked his head, listening as well until the thuds faded away and down the steps. They regarded one another, Kyle wide-eyed and tensed, cock still achingly hard; stomach sick. Craig was collected, mouth pulled tight. 

"Think he was listening?" he asked without malice; tone merely curious. 

Kyle just shook his head, nausea crawling in him like insects searching. 

"I wonder if he heard anything last night," Craig added, pressing their foreheads together. "If we're lucky, he did."

"How can you say that?" Kyle asked, their collected heat beneath the blanket and Craig's weight stifling to the point that he was on the verge of panicking. 

"Oh, you'll understand soon enough," Craig said, pressing a chaste peck to Kyle's nose. Calmly, he rose up to look between them, tutting softly. The smell of sex mingled with sweat and an aura of fear wafted to wash over them. His fingers touched tenderly the smooth length of Kyle's hard flesh, searching and making him hold his breath; close, so hatefully, agonizingly close -

Weak now, Kyle tried to arch his hips, to bring him closer, but Craig drew his hand away; sitting up to stare down at Kyle like he was appraising something newly discovered; a fantastical rarity. Something in his eyes changed, became vulnerable as the sun lay on his shoulders, growing brighter. He ducked his head, wiping at his mouth. 

"We should probably get up," he muttered, standing. "I'll go get something to clean you up with, hang tight."

\------

The baby was still crying when they came downstairs not too long after, both in jeans and tshirts, though Kyle was wearing one of Craig's large hoodies; sleeves falling over his hands. Stepping into the kitchen, Wendy was bustling around, making a bottle while Beatrix wailed relentlessly, propped in her bouncy chair; red-faced and a mess of tears and snot. 

Wendy didn't notice them for a moment, noticeably startled when she turned to see them there, shadows more stark beneath her eyes; face pale from obvious fatigue. She smiled, but it was wan and forced. 

"I'm sorry if she woke you," she said, offering the bottle to the baby and frowning when she didn't latch, her expression hard until Beatrix finally started drinking in earnest. Wendy sighed deeply, leaning on the counter and glancing at her guests. "Colic," she offered in an almost helpless voice. "Or something...i don't fucking know anymore."

Pressing a hand to her lips, she seemed to regret what she'd said, but didn't offer an apology. Instead, she focused on her daughter, who watched the newcomers with wide eyes. 

Kyle stared back, feeling sick inside from having so much secret animosity for an infant but it couldn't be helped. The child was pudgy and cute, a perfect amalgamation of her parents; Stan's blue eyes and Wendy's smooth dark hair... roses blooming in chubby cheeks, pale like porcelain. 

She was beautiful, bordering on ethereal, and she only existed because Stan and Wendy had -

"Let me help with that," Craig offered, coming forward to relieve Wendy of the bottle. "Okay?"

Wendy blinked, looking younger in her surprise; darkly pretty with her pulled back hair and flimsy pink camisole. Her face was too thin in the morning light, Kyle thought, almost gaunt. Regardless, she gave Craig the bottle and stepped back, pulling self-consciously at yet another pair of tight black yoga pants. 

"Thanks," she said, looking toward the window when a sharp crack split the air. Noticing Kyle looking in the same direction, her expression became grim. "Stan's chopping wood, if you wanted to go out and help him." To Craig, she turned a grateful smile. "I was going to try and do some yoga if I could, but -"

"Go," he said, picking up the baby to cradle her while she fed, "I've got this. Go take some time for yourself. You want coffee?"

"I'd love some," she all but gushed, moving and turning away. Unsure, she stopped. "You really don't have to, you know."

He just waved her away before he looked at Kyle, who was still more focused on the sounds ringing outside, imagining Stan in the rising sun, working up a sweat. He also wanted to be away from the baby, still not used to or truly accepting her existence, knowing that was sick and hating himself for it. 

"Make some coffee," Craig suggested, moving into Kyle's point of view. "I could really use a cup."

"Sure," Kyle replied, tearing his eyes from the window, the ax still thudding sharp. Moving around the kitchen, he managed to find the makings for coffee, all the while quietly marveling that he was in Stan's kitchen; touching his things, seeing what he saw every day. 

Soon, the rich scent of coffee permeated the kitchen and Beatrix was dozing softly in Craig's arms, a veritable doll in a unicorn-decorated onesie. Kyle almost felt like he was hallucinating at the sight, but Craig was pleased, setting the bottle aside before putting her back in the bouncy chair. 

"She's cute, huh?" he asked, accepting the mug Kyle passed him. "Looks just like the two of them."

Unconvinced that Craig wasn't trying to be cruel, Kyle didn't answer, fixing his own cup and sipping it slowly. In the other room, soft music wafted and he could imagine Wendy stretching, immune and lost to the world around her. All at once, the sound of the ax cut off and soon the back door was opening, Stan coming inside, shirt dark with sweat and clinging. Like Wendy, he seemed surprised to see them, but it passed quickly. 

"Early risers, huh?" he asked, gathering his shirt to wipe his face, revealing a hard, tight belly. Kyle watched, knowing that Craig noticed; uncaring either way. "I guess it's hard to get any sleep when baby girl likes to make a fuss."

"She's okay now, I think," Craig supplied, drinking his coffee slowly. "She finished her bottle, anyway."

"Hmm," Stan replied, looking around, eyes settling on Kyle. "Where's Wendy?"

"Yoga," Kyle said, taking a cup from the cabinet. He held it up. "Coffee?"

"Please. Black." Coming to the counter, he leaned to watch, giving beatrix a brief glance and kiss before affording Kyle his full attention. 

"It's strong," Kyle said timidly, pushing the cup over; elated when Stan drank and smiled. "It's okay?"

"Perfect." Stan groaned lightly, working the kinks from his shoulders. "Still gotta stack the wood so I can't stand around for too long, though."

Catching Craig's eye for a moment, Kyle spoke, "I could help. I mean, if you wanted."

Stan gave him a look over his mug before answering. "I didn't invite you out here to do chores, but," he shrugged, offering an easy smile. "If you want, and if it's okay, of course." He flicked his eyes to Craig. 

Craig cracked a smile that had fangs behind it before he nodded. "By all means. I'll just look after the kiddo."

"Wendy shouldn't be making you do that," Stan said, setting his mug down abruptly. "It isn't your job."

"I offered," Craig replied easily. "Really, it's no big deal."

"Still," Stan said, pushing away from the counter. "Maybe I should -"

"Stan, please leave it alone," Kyle said, coming around so they were an arm's length apart. "I'll help you outside and Craig will look after things in here. Wendy's fine... everything's fine."

"Actually," Craig interjected, "I'll probably lay your little one down in her playpen and come outside with you guys. I'm sure she'd be more comfortable that way, and it's such a nice morning... it'd be nice to get some air."

Kyle only sighed because it couldn't be helped, Craig's presence, and soon enough they were all outside in the bright morning; soft, cool breezes carrying aromas of flowers blooming and spring resurrected. Craig stayed on the porch to watch and listen at the door if Bea stirred, while Kyle and Stan hefted wood, though truth be told Stan did most of the heavy lifting. 

It wasn't long before Kyle was sweating under his hoodie, and he unzipped it. Stan watched, an ugly twist to his lips. 

"Just take the damn thing off," he said, peeling his own sodden shirt away and throwing it aside. "It's too warm for that bullshit."

Kyle stared, taken aback at Stan's artless choice of words, but then it became obvious. The size, the style... it was obvious the garment belonged to Craig, but it shouldn't matter. Still, Kyle obeyed, removing the article and revealing his thin tshirt. White, because Craig liked seeing him in white. 

Stan looked, face inscrutable, his own skin tanned and smooth, no tattoos to break up the planes of taut muscle. They stood in the fragrant wind for a moment before he picked up another log and threw it on the pile. Kyle followed suit, giddy and watching hungrily, that bared flesh he wanted to taste and cherish. 

Before long, the sun had moved slightly higher in the sky and grown hotter, and Kyle was looking up to see Wendy standing beside Craig on the porch, arms crossed and brow creased. Her hair was down and wild, unfettered around her shoulders; cheeks pink while she regarded them. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she called to Stan:

"Honey, shouldn't we have breakfast?"

The morning meal was quiet, mainly because the group didn't want to disturb the baby's slumber. Wendy cooked again, rubbery eggs and charred toast, but Kyle ate like it was a meal fit for kings, mostly to make up for his unclean thoughts regarding his hostess' husband. 

Through it all, Craig kept to himself, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Stan was subdued while Wendy ate little, mostly subsisting on coffee and complimenting Kyle on his technique at the way he'd prepared it.

"You need to share your secret with me," she said, ignoring her plate to take up her cup once more. "Stan's always saying i make the coffee too weak."

"Finish your eggs," Stan commented, pushing his own empty plate away. "You've barely had anything."

"I will," she replied airily. "So, Craig, Kyle, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Oh, hanging around, I guess," Craig said, taking Kyle's hand and kissing it, lingering and enjoying. "Don't you think, love?"

Subdued under the weight of being watched, both by Craig and Stan, Kyle nodded; eyes on the table. 

"Well, I'm going into town," Stan said brusquely. "Need to go to the store and get some parts for the tractor." He huffed. "My old man would leave me with broken down machinery. Kyle?"

Unprepared, Kyle looked up to see Stan peering at him. 

"You wanna come with me? It'll give us a chance to catch up."

Kyle was about to jump at the chance when Craig cleared his throat, the sound small, almost undetectable, but it was enough to hold him back; words caught in his throat. Sitting back, he rubbed his neck. 

"Maybe next time," he said, dying on the inside; the invisible noose -

(collar)

\- tightening around his throat. "I'm kind of worn out from helping with the firewood, you know?"

Brow furrowed, Stan shrugged before standing quickly, yanking up his plate and striding over to drop it in the sink. It clattered loudly and Kyle saw Wendy wince but she brushed it off, attending to her coffee and eyes downcast. Craig looked pleased, finishing his burned toast with satisfied crunches. 

"You could help me weed the flower beds if you wanted," Wendy said, still looking away when Stan pressed a hard kiss to her temple before leaving the kitchen. Finally, she raised her eyes to meet Kyle's. "I've been meaning to get to them, but... it's so hard when you have a little one. Sometimes I'm so tired."

"You should," Craig said, reaching to gather their plates. "I'll look after the baby."

Wendy smiled fondly at him, going so far as to touch Craig's hand softly. "Would you?"

"Really, it isn't a problem," Craig replied, face so kind... the very image of benevolence. "Everyone needs a break now and then."

The afternoon was warm and sweet as it stretched through long, winding hours; the sun moving like honey across the blue sky. As if in a strange dream, Kyle knelt in the dirt next to Wendy as they both worked, clearing weeds and pruning bushes, the roses and other blooms spilling their heady fragrance into the air. It made him relaxed, loose, to be there with her; an occurrence he hadn't expected. Yet, it made sense, this serenity, being away from Craig's watchful eye and Stan's unexplained aggression. 

"You know, I was completely against living out here when Stan suggested it," Wendy said at one point, sitting back on her heels and brushing sweat from her face. She looked up, eyes squinted against the sun's glare. "It's grown on me, I suppose, but sometimes it's so quiet...i can barely stand it."

"Why did you agree to it?" Kyle asked, glancing at her, light-splashed and streaked with earth. "Moving to the farm, i mean?"

Staring across the fields, Wendy shrugged, a helpless, fragile gesture; pale shoulders bony and seemingly thin-skinned. "I thought it would make Stan happy, and honestly, that's all I've ever wanted, even when I wasn't sure." Looking at him, she gave Kyle a strange feeling; something in her demeanor unsettling. "You know what I mean, don't you?"

Kyle, feeling almost naked under that look, bent to pull a weed. "I think so."

Wind rushed by them then, bringing with it the faint scent of wild, encroaching rainfall, thick and full, making Kyle feel oddly nostalgic. It was a few moments before Wendy spoke, conversational as she clipped more red roses for her basket. 

"You should cook tonight," she said decidedly. "I think Stan would like that, and so would I."

"You would?"

Stan, finally back from his foray into town, pulled into the long drive in his blue Frontier, stepping out and looking toward them. Wendy raised a hand, smiling, encouraging Kyle to do the same. 

"He hates my cooking, Kyle," she said, standing and pulling off her gloves, sighing to stretch her back. "I'd be interested to see how he responds to yours. Wouldn't you?"

Before he could answer, Wendy walked away to greet Stan, allowing him to gather her close and kiss her neck; his eyes on Kyle the whole time, searching and strangely hungry. 

\------

Evening found the farmhouse once more filled with firelight, soft music sifting through the rafters as Kyle worked to prepare dinner, sipping a glass of wine on occasion. Outside, in the cerulean twilight, Stan was lighting the grill while Wendy put the baby to bed. Craig was chopping vegetables, exuding a peaceful aura, speaking little but looking at Kyle often; face soft with affection.

"We're just about ready," Stan said, coming in and bringing the aroma of smoldering wood with him. He stopped before Kyle, waiting expectantly. "How's it going in here?"

"Good to go," Kyle smiled, holding up a platter of steaks, marinated and ready. 

Stan was confident when he manned the grill, that much was obvious, laying the meat to sizzle; orange sparks illuminating the night as Kyle stood beside him, watching. He was enthralled, but he'd always been impressed by everything Stan did... standing by and watching, quiet, but unable to look away. 

Now the skies above them were violet, wide and so full, stars teeming and pulsing; shivering light that caught in Kyle's eyes. He moved closer, hugging himself when a chilled wind passed through, making the fire gutter. He was wearing Craig's hoodie again. 

"They shouldn't take too long," Stan said, looking down at him, all smiles. He had a bottle of ale in his hand that he drank from before glancing at the house. "Your little friend isn't hovering for once. That's a surprise."

"I asked him to make a salad," Kyle replied, Stan's provocative tone not lost on him. He sniffed the air, intoxicated by the scent in his nose. 

"Hickory," Stan supplied, taking another drink. He glanced to the sky, the wild moon breaking through flossy clouds. He smelled the air, too; deeply. "It's going to rain soon. Can you tell?"

"I had a feeling," Kyle said, moving closer... to Stan, the warmth of the fire; one and the same. "I hope it won't be that soon, though."

"If it's still clear tomorrow, we could go fishing," Stan said nonchalantly, flipping a steak. "If you wanted to, of course."

Kyle flushed, pleased. Honestly, so happy he could purr like a sleepy, satisfied cat. "I'd like that."

"On one condition," Stan said, glancing at him as he drank again, his bottle almost empty. 

Kyle looked up, eyebrows raised in silent question. 

"I want it to be just the two of us. Think you could make that happen?"

Breath catching, Kyle looked at Craig, who was laughing with Wendy now in the kitchen. Almost like he knew he was being watched, he turned, catching Kyle's eye, his own narrowing; knowing and stripping him. He almost shivered, wanting to press himself to Stan's side. 

"I don't know, Stan. Craig will want to come, and -"

"Jesus, Kyle," Stan cut him off, a bite in his words. "Really?"

Ashamed, Kyle looked above him, the stars quicksilver droplets. He wanted to be open, free as the night sky, the moon riding the night, but he knew it wasn't that simple, and a large part of him fought, telling him to hide and obey. 

Another part was filled with Craig's touch, hot, large hands spreading him, filling him with pleasure that made him bite his tongue... he grimaced, so tired. He also remembered Craig's not so veiled threats against Stan's family. 

"He's... we're here together, Stan."

"Don't remind me."

"What?" Kyle asked. 

The patio door opened and Wendy stepped out, a vision in a black cocktail dress that hugged her frame, hair up in a loose chignon that displayed her slim white neck. She came over, flush-cheeked and playful, wrapping slender arms around her husband. 

"Smells good," she said.

"Beatrix already asleep?" Stan asked, kissing the top of her head. 

"For now," she smiled, her mirth passed to Kyle as well, open and carefree. "But we have time, I think."

"Is everything else ready?"

"I couldn't say, honestly," she said. "Kyle, you're in charge tonight. Where are we?"

"I'll go check," he said, looking away when Wendy got on her toes to kiss Stan deeply, knowing he had no right to burn with jealousy, white-hot, but it hurt... it hurt like Hell. "Excuse me."

Kyle was euphoric when the dinner turned out well, honestly better than he thought it would. He could tell his cooking pleased the group, but he was most focused on Stan's pleasure, eyes straying to watch as his plate cleared; his friend's satisfied face when taking a bite. 

Nursing his wine, Kyle's mouth watered at the thought of biting Stan's skin, firm and warmed under the sun; salty with sweat. Dazed, he took a gulp, and Wendy gave him a private smile, like they shared a secret. 

"You outdid yourself," she said, biting into a potato fragrant with herbs. Looking at Craig, her tone was teasing. "You weren't kidding when you said he had a knack for cooking."

"I've always enjoyed it," Craig said fondly, "Kyle puts his heart into everything he does."

"What do you do, exactly?" Stan asked, opening another bottle of ale. "You haven't really said anything about yourself."

"I haven't, have i?" Craig smiled, cutting into his steak. "Well, I'm an artist."

"An artist," Stan repeated, one eyebrow raised. He waited, clearly expecting more information, but when it wasn't forthcoming, he gestured with his hand. "And?"

Craig shrugged, chewing slowly. Swallowing, he imbibed on some wine, a glittering white, before speaking. "I write and draw graphic novels, do freelance work, take commissions. No big deal."

"You must be very talented if you can make a living off of your work," Wendy commented, impressed. 

"Would we have heard of any of your stuff?" Stan asked, sounding considerably less impressed. 

Craig stared at him, a strange light in his eye. He smiled slowly. "I can't rightly say, but it's a possibility... I've made the New York Times bestseller list before." He looked away, affecting indifference. "Like I said, no big deal." Not looking up, he continued. "What line of work are you in, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Stan went to school to be a CPA," Kyle spoke up, squirming from the way they addressed one another, like their words could become weapons very soon. He sat back a little when Craig looked at him, frowning slightly. 

"Kyle, I'm sure he can answer for himself." Smiling again, Craig glanced at Stan. "Can't you?"

"Of course I can, but I don't have an issue with Kyle answering a question on my behalf," Stan replied, words slurring slightly. "But, yeah, I'm a CPA. Well, trained to be one, anyway."

Politely, Craig wiped his mouth. "That must be fulfilling."

"No, it actually isn't," Stan said, tearing into his steak harder than necessary. 

"Then why did you become one?" Craig asked, face open and smooth with mock innocence. 

"Kyle, what did you do to these potatoes to make them taste so great?" Wendy interjected, a hint of nerves in her voice. 

"Uh, olive oil, butter...a little bit of rosemary," Kyle replied, glancing between Craig and Stan. "Sea salt -"

"It's a stable profession," Stan interrupted, setting his knife down carefully. "Not as interesting as the arts, i suppose, but it has its merits. Unless you disagree?"

Craig blinked slowly but kept smiling, though it shifted slightly. Kyle's stomach clenched, catching sight of Craig's crooked incisor, recognizing his sadistic smile for what it was. 

"I'm sorry," he said, "did I offend you somehow? That wasn't my intention."

Red-faced, Stan opened his mouth to speak, when Kyle jumped in, unable to take their disconcerting exchange for another second. It was almost like they were warring with words. 

"Everyone save room for dessert, okay?" he asked almost desperately. "I made a fruit tart."

"Oh, what kind?" Wendy chimed in, more enthusiastically than was really necessary. 

"Mixed berry," Kyle said, tremulously sipping his wine, relieved to see Stan and Craig backing down somewhat, though Craig appeared quite pleased with himself; Stan not so much. 

"It sounds lovely," Wendy said before elbowing her husband. "Doesn't it, Stan?"

Obviously annoyed, he gave Wendy a dirty look before easing a little, affording Kyle a more passive demeanor. "Yeah, sounds great."

Dinner ended without further incident, though Stan was terse when spoken to while Craig was unperturbed, bordering on carefree. He complimented the food, the wine, even the music Wendy had chosen to play; a summery bossa nova album. She glowed from his praise, her demeanor almost cracking in two when the sound of the baby's cry from upstairs cut through the conversation. 

"Jesus," she sighed, rubbing her eyes; one hand twisting a pearl dangling from her earlobe. "She's barely been asleep for an hour and a half."

"Go check on her," Stan said, unmoving. "She probably needs a bottle."

Looking up, her mouth twisted tight before her eyes narrowed. She didn't make a move to get up. 

"Well?" he asked.

Beside him, Kyle could feel Craig tense and sit up straighter, rapt in his observation of the scene unfolding. Kyle bit his lip, trying to make himself as small as possible. 

"Well, there's a bottle already made in the fridge," she said coolly before picking up her wine glass. She swirled its contents. "It just needs to be heated up."

The implication clearly not lost on him, Stan pushed away from the table. "Come on, Wends. I'm tired as hell, you know that."

"And I'm not?" 

"I don't see why you would be," he said, "you didn't even have to cook dinner tonight."

Slowly, she set down her glass with a soft  
tinkle, face blank when she spoke. "And I'm sure you're thrilled about that, aren't you?" Glancing at Kyle and Craig, she nodded. "Excuse me, will you?"

"I could go," Craig offered graciously. "That way you could both stay and relax."

"Fine, fuck it," Stan growled, standing, Craig's suggestion seemingly enough to finally light a fire under him. "I'll do it."

"Let's go together," Wendy said quietly, face pained when regarding their guests now. "We'll be right back."

"We'll clean up," Kyle said, already stacking plates. 

In the kitchen, Craig was buoyant as they did the dishes, humming softly to himself. Kyle's stomach twisted, supremely put off by the man's response to tension and discord. 

"You weren't offering to help because you really wanted to," he murmured, drying a wine glass before setting it aside. "You did it to make Stan look bad."

"Of course, but I'm starting to see he doesn't really need help with that, does he?" Craig asked. "Imagine not wanting to look after your own baby... what a shame."

"He's tired, you heard him," Kyle said lamely. "Since when is that a crime?"

"He makes his wife do everything with regards to beatrix. You can see that as well as I can." Lifting another wine glass from the water, he allowed it to drip for a moment before handing it to Kyle. 

"Maybe he's not very confident when it comes to babies," Kyle said, starting to feel agitated. "I'd be afraid of doing something wrong, personally."

"Or maybe," Craig replied easily, "he's a traditionalist asshole that thinks the woman should be totally in charge of the children."

Kyle snorted while placing the glass down, really wanting to slam it against the wall. "Oh, please. You are so full of shit. Stan's as progressive as they come."

"That remains to be seen," Craig said, his unfailing felicity plucking Kyle's nerves until they almost snapped. 

"What are you trying to gain from all this?" Kyle hissed, coming up beside Craig and grabbing his arm. "Why is it so important to tear apart Stan's character? It won't make me love you."

"No, but it'll make you stop loving him, at least a little," Craig replied, a warning creeping into his voice. "And then maybe you'll finally see the forest for the trees."

Sighing, Kyle shook his head. "I thought you just wanted me to confront him."

"Oh, I do. Make no mistake." There was a pause as he rinsed another glass. "When are you planning on doing that?"

"It's pretty hard to find a moment when you're breathing down my neck," Kyle snapped, though truth be told he'd be content to hold off for the remainder of his natural life. 

"I've no doubt you'll find the perfect time," Craig said, ignoring Kyle's tone. 

Footsteps behind them caught Kyle's attention, making him turn to see Stan in the doorway, eyes shadowed. 

"Wendy's decided to call it a night and I'm exhausted, so," he looked at Kyle directly, "we're just gonna go to bed. We're going fishing tomorrow, right?"

Tired of veiled arguments, Kyle nodded. "Yeah, Craig and I are looking forward to it."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Craig added, adept at making it seem like this wasn't the first time he was hearing about the impending outing. 

Stan looked like he was going to protest before he sagged, bowing his head. "Great, see you two bright and early. Hopefully the weather holds." Giving Kyle a sidelong, wounded look, he quietly retreated from the kitchen. 

The next morning dawned swathed in gray and yellow light, the sky overcast but the air reasonably warm; muggy but without rain, at least. 

The trio rose early, Wendy and the baby still asleep when they slipped from the house, the sun peering only slightly from behind the mountains. Kyle, ever diligent and trained to think of such things, provided coffee in thermoses for them and a basket of food; Stan having said they wouldn't be back in time for lunch. 

"I'm thinking we'll stay out all day if it doesn't start to rain," he said, starting his truck. "It'll be good to get away for a while, i think...i haven't gone fishing in forever."

"The last time I went was probably with you and Kenny and Cartman," Kyle said, sitting between Stan and Craig, trying not to lean too close to one over the other. "In high school."

He had his preference, of course; drawn to Stan's clean, simple scent: cheap aftershave and the rich salt of the earth, ingrained in him, his clothes. Craig's aroma was expensive, not as inviting for all its grandeur. 

Smiling down at him, Stan pulled onto the road. "Then it's been too long, hasn't it?"

On his other side, Kyle felt Craig's hand on his thigh, fingers pressing. Tensing, he sat straighter, wanting to lean into Stan but not daring. 

When they made it to the river, the sun had fully risen, a fat golden galleon illuminated behind the clouds. The water was high and swiftly running, leading Kyle to believe that the weeks prior had been full of rain, coupling with the typical snow runoff. All around, the wind tossed the tall pines, rustling and filling the breeze with their spicy scent. 

Soon, they had cast their lines and all Kyle could see and hear was the rushing water and the thin fishing line sinking and bobbing in the currents. All he could feel, however, was Stan's warmth and presence at his side, Craig further up the way; keeping his distance. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of pretend, making believe that he and Stan were entirely alone, free of Craig, of Wendy... of anything that might stand between them. 

"I owe you an apology," Stan said out of nowhere, so softly that Kyle almost couldn't hear him in the rush of the river. 

"What?" he asked, broken from daydreams. "Why?"

"It's true," Stan replied, reeling his line in to cast it again; deftly, muscles flexing smoothly under his shirt. "I've been tense and weird ever since you got here. Don't deny it."

Watching the swirling water, Kyle wasn't sure what to say, caught between wanting to reassure and the desire to be truthful. "You're under a lot of stress, I'm sure. New baby, a farm to look after..."

Stan laughed, but it was kind. "Still the diplomat, I see." Reaching out, he rubbed Kyle's curls; his touch fire, enough to make him swoon. "You'll never change."

Kyle shrugged, not wanting to convey how much Stan's touch affected him, filling him with light; slow-burning flames ignited, bringing him to life. Afraid, he glanced to see Craig looking away, far from earshot but oppressive either way. Relaxing only a little, he stepped closer, wanting to become lost in Stan's long-thrown shadow. 

"I don't think I can change," Kyle said softly, knowing this was a lie but wanting to be whatever Stan needed. "Not when it comes to you, anyway."

Withdrawing, Stan gazed at the water. "You must think I'm such a prick... to Wendy, to beatrix. Admit it."

Before Kyle could respond, Craig was at his side, grey eyes mirroring the sky; unflinching and beautiful in their quiet cruelty. He moved so silently that Kyle hadn't detected him until he was near, or maybe he'd just been so wrapped up in his hunger for Stan that he simply hadn't the wherewithal to notice anything else. 

"I'm going to walk up the river a ways," he said, laying his pole aside. "I'm finding i don't really have the patience for fishing... at least not right now."

Surprisingly, Stan tried to protest. "You might want to stay close, man. There are bears and - "

Craig cut him off with a wave of his hand, revealing the gun under his coat. Stan's eyes widened, flicking to meet Kyle's for a moment. He cleared his throat. 

"I didn't know you carried."

"I do, and I'm a pretty good shot. I'm not worried," Craig smiled, bending to kiss Kyle's cheek softly. Stroking his face, cupping it, he looked into his eyes. "Be good?"

Kyle nodded, knowing on some level that even if Craig couldn't see them, he'd still be close, but the thought of being with only Stan, even for a moment, was enough to make him giddy; nearly unbridled with happiness. "I promise."

"See that you do." Looking at Stan, he raised a hand. "I should be back soon, huh?" Giving Kyle a meaningful glance, he said more than words could -

Confront him. Stop dragging your feet. 

Stan watched as Craig walked away, expression filled with caustiv suspicion, and oddly enough, a latent fear. When he was gone, disappearing into the trees, he looked at Kyle, all of his features tight. 

"Does he always carry a gun?"

Kyle nodded, shaking lightly, nerves rattling him; fear, arousal, anticipation. He focused on the water, reeling in his line slowly. 

"I hate guns," Stan said, moving closer, almost like he was trying to protect him. "They're cruel... only cowards use them." He paused. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

Kyle smiled, ducking his head. "I know."

"You always understood that about me," Stan said. "And you never judged...i could always just be me, the good or the bad."

Swallowing thickly, Kyle had to fight back tears now; remembering. Stan had always been kind, sensitive, the most sacrificing of their group, and Kyle had adored him for it. Whenever Kyle had wanted to give up or hide he'd always found himself retreating to Stan, seeking refuge, acceptance - 

_Love_, just love. 

"Look," Stan said, his voice strange, almost strangled, "about Wendy, it's just..." he trailed off, clearly groping for words, "she's been so different since having the baby. It's like she's gone to this dark place and I can't follow. She's sad and then she's angry... she doesn't want to eat, or be touched, and..."

He shook his head, casting his line again. "The doctor said it's post-partum, but I think it's more than that, and when I look at Beatrix all I can see is Wendy's misery, and it's like I can't bring myself to truly love her."

He stopped, covering his eyes. "But I do love her. She's my daughter, but..."

Pulling his hand away, Stan looked into Kyle's eyes, raw, naked, and it was like there had never been time between them. In that moment, it was only them, and they were boys again, growing... there were those furtive kisses and the fire, that lost night in the woods. 

"Kyle," he said, voice shaking, "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make any of this better."

Heart racing, Kyle wanted to go to him, hold him close and pet him, lay Stan's head in his lap and be a haven, but Kyle was jerked out of the moment when his line became taut, and then he was fighting against it. 

"I've got something!" he yelled, so startled he almost dropped the pole. 

"Don't let go!" Stan yelled, throwing his own pole aside and coming to Kyle's aid, standing behind him and wrapping strong arms around Kyle; gripping the pole so it wouldn't slip from slick hands. Murmuring close to Kyle's ear, his voice was honey, sweet; dark. "See? Just like that... just reel it in, slowly."

Breath stuttering in his chest, Kyle followed this command, hyper aware of Stan's body flush against him, hard, chest heaving and pressing into his back. The heat between his legs wasn't lost on him either, nearly moaning because he felt so full... so warm...

Just too much. Too much at once. 

After a valiant fight, the fish was successfully hooked and reeled in, thrown into the soft grass where it flopped and gasped, filling Kyle with childish glee. He turned to look at Stan, still so close, and he nearly laughed with delight; overtaken. 

"We did it!" he said, breathless, before something in Stan's eyes gave him pause; deep yearning, that hunger from before but now it was ravenous. He froze, blood rushing through him, hot, and he stared. He said Stan's name but it was just a whisper. 

"Why did I ever let you go?" Stan asked, coming closer until their foreheads touched. "Why, Kyle? Can you tell me?"

Kyle could only shudder, feeling stripped, broken, but so, so alive. Tilting his head, he subliminally offered himself. "I don't know. But I'm here now, aren't i?"

"Yes," Stan sighed, his voice frail, pressing his lips to Kyle's skin; soft, searching. "And i couldn't be happier. I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, more than you could ever know," Kyle said, falling into Stan's nearness like he would the ocean, engulfed entirely. "But there are things I need to say, and -"

It was then that a bright fork of lightning tore through the sky, cracking close, and Kyle yelled, pressing closer to Stan. Arms held him tightly, and he wanted to cry, to tell him everything, but then the world was nothing but rain and shrieking wind, and he was being coaxed to run, to hide. 

Under the cover of tall pines, Kyle looked out to see the world being torn apart, and the words he needed to speak were trapped in his mouth. Instead, he leaned closer to Stan, loving him even now, despite his flaws, and he thought of his sweet words -

_"Why did I ever let you go?"_

Kyle had to admit he didn't have an answer to that, feeling his heart breaking again, the pain becoming newly unbearable; like it had happened yesterday, going on until the end of time. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my lord it's been a million billion years since I updated this fic and I'm so sorry -
> 
> If anyone's still reading, that is. 
> 
> And if you are, bless you - don't give up on me! This part is uncomfortable but we're broaching the end, and it's going to be ugly and dramatic and very fun to write, lmao. 
> 
> Please, if you're still reading, let me know. I feel like I'm barking in the dark here. 
> 
> Also, thank you SO MUCH for the beautiful, wonderful comments on the last chapter - they mean the world to me and I'll respond forthwith!
> 
> ENJOY!! ❤❤❤❤

The storm was lashing frenzy around them as they huddled beneath the trees; bending and tossing, snapping to the earth but not quite hard enough to break.

The rain, cold and the size of half dollars, had teeth, a bite, striking so deep it almost seemed alive. It fell in violent torrents as Kyle watched, mesmerized, his knees drawn to his chest to cradle his chin. His clothes were soaked but he didn't pay them any mind, opting to watch the weather's fury; Stan's reaction to it. They both seemed so angry and discontented, like they wanted to hurt whatever was close enough to touch.

"I should've known better," Stan muttered, taking off his shirt to wring it out, skin blue-mottled from midday shadow. "The weather was telling me everything i needed to know, and I just ignored the signs."

Looking up, Kyle could see the breaks in the tree canopy above him, white and gray light caught in flits and snatches. The raindrops found their way between the leaves, falling to earth in gentle little patters; hypnotizing. He sighed, adjusting his hoodie -

Craig's hoodie, rather

\- content to wait out the storm; satisfied being held prisoner by it so long as Stan was trapped, too.

"That thing is wrecked," Stan snapped, plopping on the ground next to Kyle and yanking on the hoodie's sleeve. "Why do you still have it on?"

"It's dry enough," Kyle replied. "What do you want me to wear instead?"

"Anything but that," Stan said, mirroring Kyle's posture and close enough to touch.

When Kyle didn't move, Stan reached to snare Kyle's zipper and pull it down, exposing his tshirt beneath. "I told you to take it off, dammit. You'll catch a cold being this stubborn."

"We both know that's not how colds work," Kyle murmured, sliding the garment off and folding it; laying it aside. He gave Stan a look of feigned, teasing petulance. "Better?"

"Much," Stan said irritably, impossibly beautiful in his semi-nakedness, so much that Kyle ached looking at him. His surly expression, however, was less appealing.

"Do you think he got far before the rain started?" Stan asked, startling him.

Groping, it took a moment for Kyle to realize Stan was asking after Craig. He shrugged. "I don't know, honestly. I just hope he was smart and found cover."

Stan just grunted, running a hand through his too-long hair, spiky from moisture. Silence fell between them, punctuated by whistling wind and the ongoing roar of the river; steady rainfall.

"How did you two reconnect, anyway?" he finally asked, a bite in his tone. "I mean, he moved away at 14, right? Where the hell has he been?"

Kyle had been expecting a question like this, realizing from an outsider's perspective that his relationship with Craig must seem so bizarre, so utterly random. Still, he was uncomfortable talking about it, because it brought so many ugly things to the surface, least of which was Craig's difficult, cruel past.

"He went to Denver," he said carefully. "Not with his parents, though... they didn't exactly get along."

"Then who did he stay with? Relatives?"

Kyle cleared his throat, shivering a little when a cold breeze nipped his skin. "Not exactly."

"Christ, here," Stan sighed, grabbing a jacket from his pack and draping it over Kyle's shoulders. "I'll make a fire... looks like the rain might stick around for a while."

Warmth built in Kyle's belly as he pulled the jacket tighter, watching as Stan gathered sticks and rocks; clearing a patch of grass. Light from above, weak and white, dappled his naked skin.

"You need this more than I do," Kyle murmured. "I don't want you to be cold."

"Wear it," Stan replied, striking a match and setting it close to the wood. "It's not up for debate." Brow furrowed, he glanced at him. "Who did Craig stay with in Denver if not his parents? You never answered me."

Averting his eyes, Kyle drew his knees tighter to his chest. Stan's jacket was filled with his scent, and more than anything he just wanted to wrap himself in it and take a nap.

"It isn't really for me to say," he finally replied. "It's his business."

Sitting back on his heels, Stan looked at him incredulously. "He's your boyfriend, isn't he? Why can't you talk about him? You act like you aren't allowed to."

Still looking anywhere but at Stan, Kyle felt helpless. "It isn't right, and besides, why do you even care?"

The fire was slow-growing now, a blooming flower of flame and smoke, throwing heat over Kyle's skin. Stan tended it, his movements sudden, quick; almost agitated.

"I care because I'm worried about you," he muttered, his words clipped.

Feeling crazy, Kyle had to fight back a smile, almost afraid of how truly happy Stan's words made him. This joy seemed beyond him, like he didn't deserve it. Instead, he tried to deflect.

"Well, I appreciate that, Stan, but you have your own problems." Reaching out to the flames, he curved his hands like he was cupping heat in them. Timidly, he added, "I'm sorry about Wendy, by the way. I had no idea."

Sighing, Stan let the fire be and went to his pack, fishing something from the pocket. Coming over, he plopped next to Kyle and lit up a joint, smiling at Kyle's wide eyes.

"Dude, I inherited a weed farm. Is it really that surprising?"

Laughing, Kyle watched Stan take a slow drag, accepting the joint when it was passed over. He held it, thinking and remembering. "You hated that place when we were kids. Why the fuck did you go back?"

Stan shrugged a shoulder, smoke leaking from his mouth in blue-gray tendrils. "Maybe i wanted to go home again. You know?"

Kyle stared at him before breaking out into more giddy laughter, covering his mouth. The joint was still between his fingers, its glowing cherry orange-red. The smoke was sweet, and Kyle felt dazed already... mostly from Stan's presence more than anything else.

"You and your sentimental bullshit," he said, wiping his mouth and offering Stan the joint. Smiling softly, he stretched a little, the cold working knots into his muscles. "But it's nice... and really, home can be wherever you want. Hell, it could just be a frame of mind."

"You ever visit your folks these days?" Stan asked, catching Kyle off-guard. "I see your mom when I go into town sometimes... she always wants to talk."

"I'm sure she does," Kyle muttered, accepting the weed and taking a deep pull. Guilt was immediate at the thought of his parents, sharp and cutting. "Honestly, I've been a shitty son the last few years, Stan. I don't know," he sighed, looking through the weed's haze like it could offer up answers or ready excuses. "Just the thought of seeing them, or letting them see me... it just felt like more than I could handle. I love them but they have so many questions."

"What's wrong with that?" Stan asked, reaching to throw more wood on the fire. Beyond the trees, the rain picked up. "Yeah, I mean, it isn't ideal being grilled by your parents, but you're a success in their eyes, I'm sure. Good job, luxury condo -"

"That doesn't mean shit," Kyle cut in, voice bitter like he was biting a lemon. "None of it does, and you know it." Taking a deep breath, he touched his throat. "And i don't have that job anymore, anyway. My mom would lose her shit if I told her that." He laughed, but it was brittle, a decayed sound. "She loved telling her friends about her son that worked for Legg Mason... her big shot son with the fancy corner office. Like I was somebody, but I wasn't. Not at all."

Stan turned to stare at him, the side of his face awash in fire-glow, smoke rising between them. He narrowed his eyes. "You lost your job? Dude, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"What would it matter?" Kyle asked flippantly. Tone darkening, his hands flexed into fists. "And i didn't lose my job. I quit."

Caustic shame and rage filled him then, as did his pride, a sharp-fanged creature in his heart. Kyle Broflovski, the real Kyle, would never have been fired... he'd given too much to his position, his livelihood, to ever let that happen.

No, his achievements had been wrenched from him, and now he was weak and floundering; Craig's little puppet. He was a filthy, pretty bauble trained to behave but the rage ran deep. Even now, he couldn't say he was completely, utterly broken... but he was close, the taste of it like blood in his mouth.

Why, then, was he finding it impossible to open up his mouth and beg Stan for deliverance, when really it would be so easy... to lean over and whisper his truth and agonies into a waiting ear?

Paranoia was thick in him when he glanced around the firelit clearing, sure that Craig was watching, merely a breath away and he'd smell the betrayal on Kyle before he could even act on it. He'd know, somehow he'd know, and his vengeance would be swift and merciless. The dead boy's face, his eyes, filled Kyle's head and he gasped, sweat breaking out on his forehead, clammy and cool.

"His bones," he said faintly, forgetting himself in his hysteria, the awful fear. "They're in the sand. If you just look, you'll find them."

"Kyle?"

Stan's voice swam to him through the ocean's pull, waves moving over and over like living creatures, and before he could respond he was being shaken. Kyle looked up, disoriented, to see himself in Stan's eyes, filled with worry now. Covered in sweat, he felt like he'd been yanked from a waking dream, a nightmare, and he'd dragged the monsters out with him.

"I-I'm sorry," he managed, curling his fingers against Stan's chest. Breathing heavily, he stared at the shadows of stan's face, almost unable to recognize him. "My thoughts got away from me for a moment, and..."

He shook his head. The dead boy lingered in his thoughts, but he was receding enough to be bearable. "Don't listen to me. Weed always fucks with my head. I say whatever's on my mind."

Stan just held him, watching Kyle with a look that couldn't really be pinpointed because it was too much; sadness, fear, anger, and through it all a palpable yearning, almost too large and profound for one person. Dipping his head, he drew Kyle closer and for a split second Kyle was sure he was going to be kissed, but then -

"What's happened to you?" Stan whispered, pulling Kyle into a real, all-consuming hug, large arms circling him until he was nothing but a small, cherished creature... held tight, and he could feel the frantic thump of Stan's heart against his own. He shudder-sighed, his voice thick when he spoke again. "You keep wanting to convince me that you're okay, Kyle, but I know you aren't. You know you aren't."

Kyle, lost for words, could only whimper. He was devoid of his heart in that moment, sure that Stan was cradling it in his hands. He was weak and wet-mouthed; so, so tired that he let the tears slip through before he could stop them.

"Please," he sobbed, pressing close, so close he could smell Stan's shampoo, the woodsmoke on his skin; reminiscent of distant fires burning in far-away hearths... easily smelled on childhood mornings when they'd met at the bus stop, the night he'd surrendered everything he could possibly give. "Please, help me."

"Anything, just tell me what you want," Stan replied, and Kyle could hear the tears in his voice, too. Guilt curled in him like hands stretching, scraping and tearing with long nails.

Pulling away, Kyle's throat ached and he hung his head. How could he do this? Stan already had enough to worry about. Desperately, he tried to redirect.

"You came to my door last night," he said, trying to laugh, a watery sound; meager. "Or was i just imagining things?"

"I did," Stan laughed too, and it was so deep, touching Kyle's pain and lessening it somewhat. "It was stupid, I know, but I just wanted to say goodnight. I wanted..."

"It was wrong," he amended, tilting Kyle's face so they were looking at each other. "But i was wishing you were alone. Selfish, huh?"

Languidly, Kyle touched Stan's mouth, drugged on something he couldn't name, more potent than weed or wine; like stars were swirling in his blood and elevating him beyond the world. Breath soft, he leaned until his lips nearly touched Stan's but he refrained, somehow.

"We need to stop," he murmured. "Craig -"

"I don't trust him," Stan said, becoming savage. "He looks at you like he owns you, Kyle... and he treats you the same way."

"He's complicated," Kyle said softly, knowing this wouldn't placate Stan at all. Gasping, he felt fingers on his throat, tender and making him whimper.

"I saw the bruises, Kyle. If he's the one that put them there, I swear to God -"

"H- he didn't, of course he didn't," Kyle replied, lying by omission. It wasn't like Craig strangled him. He closed his eyes, knowing this mentality was deeply disturbed. In that moment, it even felt like the collar was latched around his throat, heavy.

"He orders you around," Stan said, "and you never fight him on it. What happened to my bossy, strong Kyle... he'd never take orders from anyone."

"Your Kyle," Kyle sighed, falling in love with the words when Stan used them, almost like he was being rightfully claimed; so different from Craig's need to control and own and tame. His eyes burned, knowing he was giving into mindless, hopeful whimsy. "It isn't what you think, Stan. I know what this looks like, but -"

"This storm just won't let up, will it?" Craig's voice broke through the murk and made Kyle seize up, frozen in Stan's arms. He pulled away, heart pounding.

Emerging from the trees, Craig stepped into the ring of light thrown by the fire. His face was inscrutable, eyes lingering on Kyle long enough to make him sweat before he finally looked away. He sat, warming his hands at the fire.

"I forgot how cold it can get out here, even in spring. Virginia has its moments, but not like this... this is the kind of chill that hurts."

"Virginia, huh?" Stan asked, shifting closer to Kyle though he didn't touch him. "What part?"

"Chincoteague," Craig replied, popping his neck and groaning softly. "Near the water. I have a little place there, but I'm sure Kyle's told you about it... he knows it very well."

"Actually, no," Stan said, "he hasn't said anything about where you come from. In fact," he glanced at Kyle, "I'm not even clear on how you two met up again after so much time."

Craig laughed easily. "Then what the hell have you two even been talking about? Anything?"

Lighting up another joint, Stan dragged it long and slow, eyes narrowed in Craig's direction. He held the smoke a piece and then exhaled, offering it to Kyle who shakily accepted it; heavy with Craig's eyes weighing him down.

"Kyle said he lost his job," he said, feeding the fire another handful of small sticks. "Or, more accurately, that he quit."

Craig let out a slow breath, his features rearranging to show pain, manufactured, no doubt, but Kyle was amazed at how convincing he could be.

"Yeah, it was such a shame. That job was bad for him, though... tore him down. You know how you can give something your all and instead of gratitude it asks you, 'well, what have you done for me lately'?"

Stan was quiet long enough for Kyle to take two pulls, head clouding and chest burning.

"I guess so," he replied. He glanced at Kyle. "Is that how it was? That's what I figured, that they didn't treat you the way you deserved."

Kyle shrugged, very aware of Craig watching him; face partially lost to shadow, but the orange fire burning bright in his eyes. "More or less," he murmured.

"Are you looking for another job?" Stan asked, pressing gently. "I know how you are, dude, you can't be idle for long, and -"

"I'm taking care of him," Craig broke in quietly. "You don't have to worry."

The tension lay thick after Craig spoke, and Kyle just wanted to fade into the shadows, become firelight; drift away. Hazy from the weed, he lifted his face to regard the sky, hours away from nightfall but already dreaming of disappearing into the stars, far from pain and worry.

"Excuse me," Stan replied, his tone so taut that Kyle could practically taste his hostility, "but i was talking to Kyle, not you." Shifting, he moved closer to Kyle. "If that's all right with you, of course."

Dropping his focus, Kyle's stomach lurched when he saw the look on Craig's face; predatory, waiting to strike. "I was just offering up some insight. I'm sorry if I offended you."

But he didn't sound sorry at all. If anything, he seemed to feed on Stan's rage, his easy anger. Kyle bit his lip, nails digging into his skin to stop him from crying out --

"You know, you've said that before, but I don't really think you mean it," Stan snapped. "I don't think you give a fuck if you offend me, or am I misreading the situation?"

Silence fell, save for the fire's crackle, the river rushing by, and the wind moaning through the trees; rainfall plummeting endlessly, and Kyle quietly began to cry, knuckles pressed to his mouth. Looking at Craig, he saw him watching them both with a look of extreme satisfaction.

"No," he replied casually, "you aren't. You're right, Stan, I don't give a shit if I bother you. If anything, I enjoy it."

Stan tensed beside him, and before Kyle could make a sound he was leaning forward, hands clenched. "What the fuck is your problem, anyway? What'd I ever do to you?"

Craig laughed softly, a cold, menacing sound that worked its way into Kyle's bone marrow. "It's not what you've done to me, it's what you've done to him." He pointed to Kyle, who cringed into himself until he was nothing more than a small, shaking mess of sobs and fear. "You hurt him, Stan; you've been hurting him for years, and you need to answer for it. Isn't that right, Kyle?"

Shaking his head, Kyle couldn't answer, tears running down his face until everything was a mess; the fire, Craig, Stan, the world -

It all culminated to be too much, and he clutched at his head and wanted to scream, to be done, to just -

"You're upsetting him, you fucking asshole!" Stan yelled, putting his arm around Kyle and tugging him close. "What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway? What are you even talking about?!"

"Don't touch him," Craig said, low and fierce; cold. "You don't have that privilege," he added. "Not after you used him to get what you wanted."

"Huh?" Stan asked, and now he didn't just sound angry; no, he sounded bewildered and slightly afraid. "That isn't true, I'd never use Kyle."

"Is that so?" Craig asked, flicking his gaze to Kyle. "What do you have to say to that? Anything?"

"I, uh," Kyle stammered, rubbing at his throat, almost feeling like it was starting to close up, like the collar was wrapped around it and tightening every second. A soft hand was placed on his arm, and he glanced up into Stan's face, soft and hurting -

Yearning, really. Begging Kyle to assure him that what Craig was saying wasn't true.

Something in Kyle's chest crumbled at that look and he couldn't stand another moment of this inquisition. Abruptly, he stood and threw off Stan's jacket, detaching and done with their monstrous tête-à-tête.

"I feel sick," he managed to choke out, swallowing down bile. "I need to go back. Now."

Stan stood, trying to press the jacket into his hands but Kyle refused, finally becoming angry in his own right.

"I don't want it!" he yelled, throwing it in Stan's face.

"Kyle, what the hell is wrong with you?" Stan asked, eyes wide, almost like he'd never seen Kyle before that moment. "What's he talking about? Kyle?"

Looking down, Kyle stubbornly refused to answer, his eyes burning from tears; humiliation saturating him at being put on the spot, and knowing, just knowing, that Craig was eating up every agonizing moment.

"I don't want to talk about this right now," he said in nearly a whisper.

"But -"

"No!" he yelled, looking between them both. "I don't fucking want to talk about this right now!"

Standing, Craig held up his hands in a placating gesture, all smiles and sunshine now. Coming over, he laid a gentle hand on Kyle's shoulder.

"Relax," he murmured, "you don't have to talk about anything you don't want to, okay? No one's going to force you. Right?"

He cut his eyes to Stan, cold and sharp. Stan still appeared incensed, but he nodded, even if it was stiff. Meeting Kyle's gaze, something in his blue eyes cracked and melted, and in that moment he looked so much younger -

Like the Stan Kyle remembered from years before, even before they'd given themselves to each other on one lost, starlit night. "Whatever you want, Kyle. You can talk about all of this when you're ready. Okay?"

Kyle just nodded, thoroughly spent and ready to turn away from the day, the past; everything encroaching on him. Turning, he covered his eyes with his hand, wiping away tears that hurt more than they soothed; burning his skin.

\-----

The ride back to the farm was agony for Kyle, situated in between Stan and Craig, the atmosphere as heavy in the truck as it was outside; clouds thick and billowing over the wide-spread landscape. The trio was silent but each had their own type of quiet - Kyle's tentative and tired, Stan's ominous and dark, and Craig's smug and self-satisfied.

When they finally arrived, Kyle had to struggle for breath when he was set free, avoiding Stan's eyes, his hurt, suspicious looks. There was something in them, a fearful cast, that told Kyle he knew on some level what Craig was suggesting --

But that didn't make it any better. If anything, Kyle ached more, because it made it all so much more real, that Stan had known what he was doing when he'd taken him -

That he'd planned it, or had realized he was using him for his own devices. For the longest time, Kyle had wanted to believe that Stan didn't really know what he was doing, he wasn't truly cognizant of his treachery; that he hadn't known better because he was wounded and hurting, too.

But now, now... Kyle couldn't really be sure.

The house was quiet when they stepped inside, blue shadows falling long and silent along the floors, and Stan was quick to look away when Kyle tried to meet his eyes.

"I'm gonna go look in on Wendy and Beatrix," he muttered, moving away and up the stairs. He looked back once to meet Kyle's eyes but then he was gone, leaving him alone with Craig and the thick, unbearable tension between them.

"Let's go upstairs," Craig murmured, placing a hand on Kyle's nape and squeezing softly. "We need to talk."

Kyle's blood, at once so hot and fast when in Stan's presence, ran cold. He hugged himself.

"Craig, I -"

"Now."

Soon enough they were situated in their room, the door shut and locked and the house still as a grave. Kyle stood because he was afraid to move while Craig milled about the room, undressing so they could shower and warm up.

"Strip," he said, throwing his clothes in a heap on the floor. Going into the bathroom, he turned on the water. When he came back out, Kyle was in the same place he'd left him, stock-still.

"Hey, earth to Kyle," he said, snapping his fingers in front of Kyle's face and making him yelp. "Wake up, okay? I'm not in the mood for any more of your bullshit."

Obeying, Kyle bowed his head and took off his clothes, feeling like a zombie as he climbed into the shower next to Craig. Wordlessly, he allowed himself to be washed and caressed, unresponsive until Craig was slamming his fist against the tile and forcing him from his stupor.

"It was the perfect chance," he seethed, gripping Kyle's arm until he cried out, shaking. "I had him lined up for you, Kyle... right in our sights, and you fucking flaked." Breathing heavily, he gave Kyle a shake before letting go.

"What were you thinking, huh? Don't you realize what's at stake here?"

Shaking his head, Kyle pressed a hand to his trembling mouth. "I just couldn't, Craig. He looked so blindsided, and -"

"Save it, I don't want to hear that pathetic crap anymore," Craig snapped, washing the shampoo from his hair before shutting off the water. Yanking the shower curtain aside, he grabbed a towel and began rubbing Kyle's hair roughly, making him cringe. "You need to open up your goddamn mouth and tell him what he did."

Anger rose like a snapping dragon in Kyle's heart, making him pull away; so tired of being coerced and controlled and threatened.

"I don't want to," he said between gritted teeth.

Like a whip crack, Craig's voice made him shudder. "Excuse me? Would you care to repeat that?"

Turning to him, Kyle gave him his fiercest look, remembering Stan's words -

_"What happened to my bossy, strong Kyle... he'd never take orders from anyone."_

"I don't want to," Kyle said, punctuating each word like Craig was of very low intelligence.

Craig stared at him, eyes flickering an understated, calculating madness until he began to laugh; low-growing until it was bordering on hysterical, and then he was pulling Kyle into the bedroom with a savagery he hadn't used in a very long time. Gasping, Kyle tried to pull away but he was hurled to the bed, held down, and then there was a click up against his temple --

"I've just about run out of patience for all of this," Craig whispered and it was the cruelest sound Kyle had ever heard from him. "And that's funny, considering I've been waiting for over a decade, but -"

He jabbed the gun harder into Kyle's skin, and he whimpered, naked and still under the hand Craig was pressing into his chest, right above his racing, stuttering heart.

"If you don't confront him, I can't be responsible for what I do," he added, kissing Kyle's lips, tongue into his mouth to taste him. He pulled away. "Do you want Wendy's blood on your hands? Worse yet," he pouted, "that tiny, innocent baby's? Kyle, I thought you were better than that, I really did."

"You can't," Kyle said faintly, staring up at him, cringing when thunder rumbled outside, almost like it was inside his bones. "Even you wouldn't -"

"I would, I assure you," Craig cut him off, running the gun down Kyle's cheek. Nudging his thigh betwee Kyle's, he pressed his hardness against him, softly rutting. "Don't fucking test me."

A knock came at the door then, softly, and Wendy was calling to them.

"Hey, you guys, dinner's almost ready, okay? It's nothing fancy, just sandwiches, but come on down, okay?"

"Want me to get that, Kyle, or do you want to do the honors?" Craig whispered, looking down at him with bright eyes. He held up the gun, stained orange-red by the sudden brilliance shining through the parted blinds. He smiled, that one crooked incisor gleaming.

"Please, don't," Kyle pleaded, tears beading the raw corners of his eyes. "It's not fair, it isn't her fault -"

"Kyle?" Wendy called again, knocking timidly.

"What's it gonna be, Kyle? Huh?" Craig took a hold of Kyle's hair and jerked his head toward the door, making him moan low in his throat. "It's your come to Jesus moment. No more stalling."

"Please -" Kyle gasped, and his heart stuttered when Craig rose with a decisive shrug.

"Okay, if that's what you want," he said, moving toward the door. "Can't say I didn't give you a choice."

"Kyle? Are you okay? Craig?" Wendy called, and now she sounded a little unsure; frightened. "Should I get Stan?"

Frantically, Kyle watched while Craig seemed to move in slow motion, going to the door with the horrible gun cocked, and something in his brain told him that he wasn't kidding, and he could see Wendy being blown away, and then the baby, Stan's only child -

"No! Stop!" he sobbed, jumping up and taking a hold of Craig's hand, holding him back. "I'll do it, I'll confront him... just... don't do this. Please, I'm begging."

Craig looked at him with a twisted expression before he smiled slowly, and some of the sanity filtered back into his eyes. "Good," he murmured, like Kyle was so precious, so obedient; back in his good graces. "Answer her, though, before she makes a fuss."

Crumpling onto the floor, Kyle stared at the door like there was nothing before him, and spoke in a small, tremulous voice; weak and just so broken.

"I-I'm fine, Wendy. We're fine. We'll be down in a few minutes."

Silence, and then -

"Are you sure, Kyle? Did you need anything?" She paused, her voice softening. "If something's wrong -"

"No, nothings wrong, promise," Kyle interjected as smoothly as he could, even as his insides dissolved. Any strength he'd managed to scrape together was gone now. "Just... give us a moment, okay?"

"Well, okay," she replied, a dip in her voice conveying her suspicion, but then she was slowly moving away. "We'll be waiting downstairs."

Silently, they both listened to her footsteps moving away until Craig brushed a hand through Kyle's curls, and he was soothing his quiet tears; the numbness he'd settled into, thoroughly whipped and cracked apart.

"Good boy," he murmured, holding Kyle close. "There's my good, obedient boy. I love you so much...i don't think I've ever loved you as much as i do right now. My perfect little Kyle."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major trigger warnings here: rape, violence, gaslighting. Everything. Please be warned and stay safe, okay?
> 
> This part was hard, you guys, both from an emotional and technical standpoint. It wrung me out, but I'm pleased. Kind of. 
> 
> I also did something I never do...rewrote a chapter almost from scratch after hating everything I initially wrote. I guess I just wanted to get it right, but only time will tell. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I really do. ❤
> 
> PS: the response on the last chapter floored me, you guys. Seriously. You are all so wonderful and I thank you. Your comments gave me so much encouragement!!
> 
> PPS: also, this isn't the end. We're just about there, but not quite. 🤣

_**You know only how to own me** _   
_ **You know only how to own me** _

_**You're buying stars to shut out the light** _

_ **We come alone and alone we die** _   
_ **And no matter how hard you try** _   
_ **I'll always belong in the sky** _

_ **And you could buy up all of the stars,** _

_ **But it wouldn't change who you are** _

_ **You're still living life in the dark** _

_ **It's just who you are** _

_ **\- Marina, Buy the Stars** _

* * *

"If you go down in the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise. If you go down in the woods today, you'd better go in disguise..."*

Wendy was singing softly to Beatrix when Kyle and Craig entered the dining room not too long after; Stan at her side nursing a bottle of ale. He looked up when they arrived, eyes narrowed and a little red.

"There you are," Wendy smiled, tucking the baby close and patting her back. She cooed softly, clinging to her mother's shirt. "There's a good girl."

Kyle's nerves buzzed to see mother and child before him, Craig at his side and watching too; the gun hidden under his hoodie. He choked back the bile that rose in his throat before reaching out to steady himself on the back of a chair.

"Sorry we took so long," he muttered, avoiding Stan's eyes as well as Wendy's. He tried not to cringe when Craig placed a hand on his back, guiding him to sit. "I'm not feeling too great."

"Me either," Wendy replied, rubbing her temple. "I have a migraine coming on, but I wanted to make sure everyone got something to eat." She kissed the baby's head and sighed. "I'm sorry I bothered you before, but i had a weird vibe," she added before laughing lightly. "Woman's intuition, I guess, but something felt off... don't mind me."

"Don't apologize, your concern was appreciated," Craig said easily, laying his napkin on his lap. "You really don't have to entertain us if you're not feeling well, though."

"Oh, I'll head upstairs before too long, after she's gotten settled." She kissed Bea again. "I'll take a bath, go to bed early."

"That's probably for the best," Stan spoke up, his voice rough. "The three of us have some stuff to talk about... we didn't get to finish up while we were out today."

She gave him a puzzled look before turning to place Bea in her bouncy chair. Sitting up, she reached for the bread. "Oh? Care to elaborate?"

"Not really," Stan replied, throwing a dark look in Craig's direction. "It's guy stuff, mostly."

"Guy stuff," she repeated, raising a brow. "Well, that's nice and vague." She glanced at Kyle. "How was fishing, anyway? You didn't bring anything back so I guess it was pretty slow."

Flushing warm, Kyle looked down at his plate. He could recall his elation when he'd caught that fish with Stan, the contact and closeness -

Strong arms wrapping him from behind and just wanting to lean back and wade into the sensation. He could feel it even now, little phantom shivers moving up his spine.

These feelings were quickly crushed when Craig squeezed Kyle's leg under the table and when Wendy looked at him with such sweet, honest curiosity. Confusing emotions riddled him then; remorse, fear, longing -

A low-simmering rage at the position he was in, and the secret little smile on Craig's mouth.

"We caught a fish together," Stan said, making Kyle lift his eyes quickly. "Me and Kyle. It was huge, but we threw it back." Catching Kyle's eye, he smiled warmly. "Right?"

Cheeks becoming hotter, Kyle nodded. They stared at each other until Craig cleared his throat quietly, fingers pressing harder into Kyle's leg. He started and groaned in the back of his throat.

"Poor thing," Wendy said, clearly misinterpreting the situation. "Did you need me to get you anything? Ibuprofen?"

Quickly, he shook his head while Craig clucked his tongue.

"You're just hungry, aren't you?" he asked soothingly, like he'd never have the capability of threatening the lives of innocent people.

"Let him answer for himself," Stan snapped, setting his bottle down much harder than necessary. "Why do you have to be such a fucking control freak, huh?"

"Stan," Wendy breathed in shock. "What's gotten into you?"

"I'm just tired of Kyle not speaking for himself," Stan said, staring Craig down. "Lord knows he can... he's never had a problem before. Until now."

Craig, for his part, looked back with an expression of utter composure. If he was at all ruffled an untrained observer would never know, but Kyle could see the light in his eye, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw.

Craig was gearing up for the impending cataclysm. If anything, he was relishing the tension spread thick across the table and poisoning the atmosphere.

For the moment, he chose not to rise to Stan's challenge. Instead, he gestured to the bread. "Could you hand that to me, please?"

Obviously confused, Wendy was slow to move, picking up the package and passing it over, all the while staring at Stan, and then back at Craig. Kyle squirmed, body taut and everything on fire inside of him.

"Am I missing something?" she finally asked.

Reaching for the mustard, Craig was glib when he replied. "Didn't you know? My relationship is apparently open to unrelenting scrutiny. What'd you want on your sandwich, Kyle?"

Wendy stared, opening her mouth to speak when Stan jumped in. "Oh, knock off your passive aggressive crap. You were direct enough in the woods so why are you hiding now? If you have a problem then open up your fucking mouth and tell me."

Craig gave him a passing glance. "I believe i've said enough already, and really, do you want to have this conversation in front of your wife?"

"Why would i have a problem with that?" Stan asked, his voice becoming dangerously soft.

Craig smiled now, like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Think about it, Stan."

Rising slowly, Stan slammed a hand down on the table. "You dirty son of a -"

"Stan!" Wendy said sharply, standing as well. She clutched her head, grimacing. "I don't know what's going on here but I can't deal with this right now. My head is killing me and you're scaring the baby."

At this, Kyle could hear Beatrix whimpering softly; the fretful sound she seemed to make right before she started to really cry. Wendy leaned to pick her up, soothing her against her shoulder. She glared at her husband.

"You've been acting like a lunatic since you came home," she added. "In fact, you haven't been yourself since they got here and I'm tired of it."

"There's a reason for that," Craig said cheerfully.

"If you don't shut the fuck up, I swear to God," Stan spat, only stopping when the baby started to wail.

"Great, just great," Wendy said, sounding like she was on the verge of tears, too. "Thanks, Stan. Your daughter is terrified and I can't say that I blame her... not when her own father is acting like he's lost his mind."

"Wendy, you don't -"

"Just stop," she said, holding up a hand while backing away. "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything right now." Turning, her eyes were wet when she looked at Kyle. "I need a moment, okay?"

"I'm sorry," he said because nothing else seemed to fit, and he was; really and truly sorry for dragging so much discord into her home.

She softened, almost smiling before murmuring gently to the sobbing baby in her arms. Soon, she'd left the room and the tension became even thicker somehow; so cloying that Kyle struggled to breathe.

"And then there were three," Craig said, going back to the sandwich on his plate.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Stan asked, leaning forward. "How do you live with yourself?"

"Quite easily," Craig replied, putting half of the sandwich in front of Kyle. "Eat up."

"I'm not hungry," Kyle murmured.

"Too much stress," Craig nodded, stroking Kyle's cheek. "It's okay, baby. Don't force yourself."

"Kyle," Stan almost pleaded, "dude, help me out here. Help me make sense of this."

"Nothing makes sense anymore," Kyle replied with a helpless shrug. He covered his face with his hands.

"You two should talk," Craig said, gently touching Kyle's back. "There are things that need to be said and laid to rest."

Silence gathered before Stan spoke. "Fine. But we need privacy." He snorted. "Think you can handle that, Craig?"

"I'll endure."

There was a shuffling of feet and then a warmth on Kyle's shoulder. He looked up to see Stan beside him. "You ready?" he asked like Kyle could break apart at any moment.

Kyle wasn't but of course he didn't say so, rising instead and following behind Stan as he headed for the patio door.

"Kyle?" Craig called, making him stop. He looked back, shaking to see the look on the man's face; grim, tight. "Behave."

Kyle didn't reply, thinking of Craig's threats; the gun waiting under his clothing. He thought of Wendy and the baby upstairs and he wanted to cry. Turning, he stumbled away, afraid he'd be sick on the floor.

Soon they were outside under the night sky, filled to the brim with multitudes of glimmering, twitching stars; blue-violet and immense. Kyle sighed, hugging himself; face tipped upward. At his side, Stan nursed his drink and watched as well, quiet for the moment. The wind was sweet, rife with faraway flowers and the last remnants of rainfall. 

"Look at that moon," Stan commented, pointing. "I feel like i could touch it if I tried."

Kyle laughed despite himself, covering his mouth. "You're drunk, Stan."

"I'm tipsy at best, Kyle."

"True," Kyle conceded, turning to see Craig watching through the window. Shuddering, he looked away and hugged himself tighter. "This feels so strange."

"What, being outside?"

"Well, yes, but it's more than that," Kyle replied, frustrated because the words weren't coming easily. "All of this, being here... being together -"

"Alone. Well, kind of," Stan said, looking back as well. He sighed. "He's watching. Of course he's watching."

Kyle touched his throat, almost expecting to feel the collar there. All of his nerves were perched on edge, waiting for the impending bite of pain. He held himself rigid, trying to convince himself there was nothing around his neck, but failing. "I'm learning to live with it, I guess. He's very attentive."

"How'd you two get together? None of this makes any sense."

Kyle laughed but it was choked. "He looked me up, just out of nowhere. Apparently he's had a thing for me since we were kids."

"He said I used you."

Kyle's breath caught in his throat, unprepared for the hurt in Stan's voice. "He doesn't understand."

"Understand what?" Shifting, Stan took a hold of Kyle's arm. "Kyle? Talk to me... what'd he mean?" Quietly, he added, "what did you tell him?"

"Oh, God," Kyle murmured, throat aching. Fingers pressed to his lips, he could hear the tears in his voice so he knew Stan could hear them too, and he just wanted to disappear. How could he talk about this? How could he possibly survive resurrecting a past that was best left buried and forgotten?

Trying to make light of his discomfort, Kyle gently eased himself from Stan's grasp. He moved away, a slip, a shadow, wanting to run and disappear into the dark, fly beyond their pitiful patch of earth and just -

Be free. Dissolve. Float toward the beautiful, silent stars and become lost. 

"Over there, do you remember," he began, pointing toward the dark clutch of woods where they'd camped out years before, "we camped out a long time ago?"

Stan looked and shrugged, the bottle of ale resting against his lips. "We camped out together all the time. So what?"

"Yes, that's true, we did, but," he faltered and he wanted to scream because this was so hard and awful, "I'm referring to a very specific time, the last camp out we had. The very last." He looked at him, begging Stan to remember, please remember, because if he didn't -

"Oh," Stan said softly. "Yeah. I think I know what you're talking about."

Becoming hopeful, Kyle's heart began to beat frantically against his ribs, and every part of him was too warm and sensitive. "Do you?"

Stan nodded, but he looked away, almost like he was hiding. "Why are you bringing that up just out of nowhere, huh?" He paused. "Did you tell him about that? You wouldn't -"

Clearing his throat, Stan lifted his eyes; mouth tight. "That night is none of his fucking business, Kyle. That was just for us, no one else."

A thread of anger, small and tenuous like smoke, rose in Kyle's mind. He tried to ignore it. "Oh? I didn't know that. Thanks for cluing me in."

"Christ," Stan sighed, sounding so tired.

This annoyed Kyle too, but he waited, nerves frayed and throat aching. When Stan didn't speak, he flicked his eyes to him, trying to sound nonchalant. "So, I take it you didn't mention what happened to Wendy."

Stan stared at him, eyes narrowing slowly, and Kyle was taken aback with how dangerous he could appear when the moment called for it. "No, I didn't. Why would I? What good would it have done?"

The anger that had appeared before ignited in Kyle's gut, warm and fierce. Hands trembling, he pressed them over his middle. "What good did any of it do?"

"Huh?" Stan asked, and now there was an edge sharpening in his tone that Kyle didn't appreciate at all, not when he was struggling to be so fucking diplomatic. "Kyle, stop being cryptic and just say what you mean, okay? I'm really not in the mood for mind games."

Letting out a low breath, Kyle wanted to cry, to scream... equal parts of him wanted to hug Stan and strangle him, and all the while he could feel Craig's eyes on his back, digging in like knives gouging and hollowing -

For the first time, a savage thought lit up in Kyle's darkest musings, and he considered what it would feel like to wield the knife for once; sliding it between Stan's ribs. Wasn't that his right? Hadn't he earned the privilege?

He shook his head, attempting to come back to himself, to Kyle, the true Kyle, the one that loved Stan to a pathological extent. 

"It was never a game to me," Kyle whispered. "If anything, I've been carrying that night around with me ever since it happened. I can't let it go. What's more," he added, tucking a curl behind his ear as the breeze kicked up, cool and almost moist on his skin, "i won't let it go."

Stan looked down, kicking at the grass. "I remember it like it was yesterday." He laughed, but it sounded thick and wet; tremulous and weak. "I can still see you looking up at me, and you were so... God, the expression on your face, in your eyes. No one's ever looked at me like that since... and I want them to. I thought Wendy would eventually, but I don't think she can."

Shuddering, he rubbed his face. "She isn't you."

Oh, how those words hurt, cutting deep, but in an exquisite way that filled Kyle with so much conflicting emotion, like his chest had been sliced open and hands were massaging and pulverizing his heart at the same time. Stan always knew how to undo him, leave him defenseless, no matter how much time passed. A small sound leaked from his mouth, a moan and a low, grating sob.

"I was always there, waiting for you," he said, his throat tightening. "But you never... you wouldn't look at me, Stan. Not the way I needed you to."

Looking up at the moon, he felt so acutely alone. "You didn't see me."

"That's why I didn't think twice the night you wanted to be with me," he went on, reckless and breathless, just needing to be free of the thoughts in his head; unwelcome passengers. "I wanted you so much, and it finally seemed like you wanted me, too."

"I did, of course i did," Stan said lamely. 

"I'd never been with anyone else," Kyle said slowly, thinking of the pain, of being breached so intimately, and he flushed with shame. Stan had undressed him slowly, clumsily, had licked lines down sensitive, untouched skin. "You were my first. Did you know that?"

The wind swept over them as Kyle waited for Stan to answer, and something in the other's bearing, a feeling more than anything else, made Kyle's flesh quicken. 

"You knew," he murmured. "You had to. You knew I was a virgin." He looked down at his hands. "But -"

"I couldn't stand the thought of someone else touching you, Kyle," Stan said quietly. "It made me sick, honestly. You can understand why, right?"

Kyle looked at him, feeling vague and a little drugged, as if he weren't truly present in his own body. "But you'd been with Wendy. You'd had sex before, plenty of times."

"It wasn't the same."

"How the fuck wasn't it the same?" Kyle snapped, his composure beginning to crack. 

Throwing his empty bottle aside, Stan began to move restlessly, hands in his back pockets. "Sleeping with Wendy was expected. Everyone thought we were doing it anyway, so... we just did."

Kyle shook his head. "What? You... but I thought you were in love with her."

"I was, am," Stan replied quickly, "I've loved her since we were in the 3rd grade. You know that."

"Then I don't understand."

"Jesus, Kyle," Stan said, exasperated and unwilling to look at him directly, it seemed. "I wasn't supposed to dream about fucking my best friend. My best _guy_ friend. Okay?" Pacing, he rubbed his head over and over. "I can't tell you how many times I fell asleep after beating off to you, watching you change before gym class, hanging on your every word... waiting and wanting and feeling like such a confused, stupid asshole."

He slapped his hand over and over, almost like he was arguing with himself, like Kyle wasn't there and it was just Stan battling himself. "It was supposed to be easy, you know? I stay with Wendy and we're perfect together, everything makes sense and all the problems we have are typical. Wanting to be with you wasn't supposed to be a part of the equation."

Timidly, Kyle spoke, "so, you were ashamed of, what, being gay? Bisexual?"

"No, dammit, it wasn't the whole queer thing. I didn't care about that. It just... it made things so complicated, and you were so perfect and I didn't want to ruin what we had, but I did anyway, didn't i?"

"When Wendy got pregnant I had no idea what I was going to do. I felt stupid and my world, her future, were going up in flames, and I had nowhere to turn. I remember being so angry and afraid and..."

He paused to glance at him, eyes wild. "I just wanted it all to go away, the whole problem, and when she lost the baby..."

"You blamed yourself," Kyle said quietly. 

Stan nodded, hand pressed to his mouth. "I was there when it started, and she was so pale and scared and there was just... all this blood and it was so fucking fast, like there'd never been a baby in the first place."

"She couldn't even cry," he murmured, face turning blank; withdrawn. "That's how numb she was... and i was too, until I was with you, and suddenly I just wanted to let go of it all. I needed you."

Kyle swallowed slowly, trying to downplay the tickle in his throat, the tears rising in his eyes. He was touched that Stan had needed him, had sought refuge in him, but what about his needs? Hadn't the thought of how much it would affect him ever crossed Stan's mind? Even once?

"I've always been so sorry about what happened to you," Kyle said, trying to smooth the cracks in his voice when they arose, "honestly, i couldn't even imagine what that must have felt like, all of it, but..."

Coming closer, he looked up at Stan, searching his face and needing to know the definitive truth, even if it was akin to swallowing poison. "Why didn't you tell me what you were going through before you... before we slept together? Did you think I'd say no, that I'd turn you away?"

Studying him, Stan's face seemed to close up like a mask was being pulled into place; expression larvated. Even his eyes darkened somewhat. "Would you have?"

Kyle stared, cold fingers creeping in his belly. "What?"

Reaching out, Stan rubbed his knuckles over Kyle's cheek. "Would you have let me be with you if I'd told you about losing the baby?"

"I, well, i... really don't know, but," Kyle groped for words that fled, warmed by Stan's touch but also put off by it. It almost seemed false. "Don't you think i deserved to know? I mean, you... you basically lied to me." Closing his eyes, he hated the awful weight of the words. He shuddered, forcing himself to go on. "Didn't you?"

"I don't think I did." Stan dropped his hand abruptly. Kyle's eyes flew open. 

"Stan," he said, licking dry, trembling lips, "lying by omission is still lying. You know that. You made me think you and Wendy had broken up, and I was completely in the dark about everything else."

"You assumed we weren't together," Stan said, giving him a sideways glance. "I never explicitly said otherwise."

Eyes widening, Kyle couldn't believe his ears. "Are you serious right now? That's your defense?"

Stan shrugged. "It's the truth, right? I can't take ownership for what you assumed."

"But you... you made me..." Kyle broke off, almost feeling like he was losing his mind. "You... Craig's right," he said, voice trance like, "you _used_ me, Stan. You fucking used me."

Stan grabbed his arm. "No, it was a misunderstanding. I wanted to be with you, Kyle; that's always been the truth."

"Let me go," Kyle muttered, attempting to shake him off; Stan gripped him harder. "You didn't really care about me, you never did... you just wanted what you wanted, a warm body, a distraction, and you got it, huh? So what if you hurt me in the process, right? Who gives a flying fuck about my feelings? Certainly not Stan fucking Marsh."

Stan shook him, taking a hold of Kyle's other arm so he couldn't move away. Whimpering, Kyle sobbed loudly, the sound strangled and much too shrill in the quiet night. 

"You're hurting me," Kyle said, closing his eyes as the tears poured, tears several years in the making. He couldn't allow himself the luxury of lies anymore, and it _hurt_, it hurt so much he felt like he'd been punched repeatedly in the gut. 

Sighing, Stan hung his head, though he didn't let go. "I'm not trying to... that's the last thing I ever wanted to do."

"Well, you did and you are, and," Kyle looked away, "what does it matter anymore? What's done is done and now we'll just... go on, won't we? Maybe i can finally start to let you go."

"No, stop talking like that," Stan snapped. "You aren't this weak. Look, I was wrong, I fucked up, and..." Shuddering, his voice cracked as he pulled Kyle closer, lips settling on his forehead, kissing over and over. 

"I'm sorry, I'm just so sorry. I never should've treated you that way, okay? I was a terrible friend and I wasn't thinking about you...i was tangled up in my own bullshit and it wasn't fair. I know that. I admit it, and if I have to spend the rest of my life making up for it, I will. I swear to God."

Heart pounding, Kyle didn't pull away when he felt Stan kissing him, warm breath flush on his skin. Instead, he allowed himself to melt against him, his arms opening to receive him, and he was being held wonderfully close, chests pressed together; heartbeats converging until they started to blur.

"Stan," he all but breathed, words failing him to feel Stan stroking careful fingers through his curls, and he was falling into him like the dream he'd been yearning for for so, so long. He sighed, tangling his fingers in Stan's shirt. "Do you really mean that? You don't have to -"

"I do, you have to know I do. You have to, Kyle. I was wrong...i was a stupid kid that wasn't really thinking about anyone else. You're right, I wanted what I wanted, who I wanted, and I just couldn't admit that..." he held Kyle tighter, so tight that Kyle could really feel the thud of his heart, the rushing warmth of a churning pulse. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"I was in love with you, Kyle. I loved you so much I couldn't even understand it, and instead of trying to i just ignored it. It hurt to feel that way. You know?"

"Oh, I know, I know," Kyle murmured, hiding his face in Stan's shirt and just beginning to cry, but his tears were giddy, his chest felt lighter, and suddenly he just wanted to laugh and be held and touched.

He wanted to be _adored_, and finally do something with the feelings he'd been harboring since childhood. Crazily, he yearned to feel Stan's mouth on him, his lips, his neck, the growing heat between his thighs.

"Why didn't you tell me then?" he asked instead, some of his elation already starting to die. So many years had passed and there had been so much needless suffering between them. "I loved you too, Stan. So much."

Looking up, he studied Stan's face in the darkness, reaching to touch his lips. Taking a deep breath, he added, "I still love you. I never stopped."

Kissing Kyle's fingertips lightly, Stan cupped his head, hand threading softly through his curls. Wordlessly, he tipped Kyle's face up and leaned forward, tentatively kissing his lips, softly and then with growing need. Kyle moaned low in his throat, holding onto Stan's shirt when his knees grew weak.

_Oh oh oh oh_, he thought, his mind a hazy, cloudy place full of multicolored, sparkling smoke. _Don't stop, please. Just don't stop._

And Stan didn't, taking Kyle into his arms and kissing him deeper, tongue sweeping into his mouth until Kyle swooned against him. Kyle's thoughts continued to be nonsensical and frenzied, and he allowed himself to dream of being taken there, just like the night Stan had made love to him in the woods years before; under the moonlight and stars.

This was almost enough to erase the horror of the past months, being held captive and terrorized; living in a constant cycle of fear and always, always waiting for the next awful thing to happen, but Kyle still felt himself seizing up to pull away, looking toward the window and seeing Craig watching, watching, watching - always fucking _watching_.

He'd _seen_, he _knew_, and Kyle had been foolish enough to forget his fear, drunk on the moment and the feeling of Stan's words and touch. He began to shake immediately, sobbing words of apology and abject, uncontrollable terror.

"We need to stop," he said, pushing Stan away. "We're both with other people, Stan. We aren't kids anymore."

"Craig is crazy," Stan replied, reaching for him and frowning when Kyle moved further away. "He isn't good for you."

"Oh, and you are?" Kyle asked, hysteria moving like a living creature in his belly when he saw Craig open the patio door and step out. "Oh, God. Here he comes, Christ, here he comes." He bit at his fingers, quick tears rising in his eyes and he was just so terribly, unforgivably afraid --

"Kyle, calm down," Stan said, his frown deepening when Kyle slapped his hand away when he grabbed his arm. "It's okay. Everything's going to be fine. I'm right here, and -"

"Stan, Wendy was calling for you a little bit ago," Craig said as he approached, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. "She needs help with Beatrix."

"Fuck," Stan muttered, brushing his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at Kyle, eyes searching. "Will you be alright until I'm done? I don't want to leave you alone right now."

Choking down his gut response, Kyle nodded towards the house. "Go, I'll be fine. Your family needs you."

"I'll try to hurry," Stan said, acting like he wanted to kiss Kyle again before he was moving away; skirting around Craig while giving him a look of very deep dislike. He rushed toward the house while Kyle watched, lips parted as his hands twisted in his shirt.

The air was still as they both looked after Stan's retreating back, and soon a light came on in one of the upstairs windows; gold resting in the tranquil, velvet dark. Craig stirred slowly, gazing at Kyle until he began to fidget in place. Before he could speak, though, Craig was shifting his focus to the sky. 

"It's so clear," he said before laughing quietly. "You know, in my younger and more foolish years, I wanted to be an astronaut." Glancing at Kyle, he grinned. "Ridiculous, huh?"

Thrown off by this line of conversation, Kyle could only shrug, looking up as well. "It's easy to see why you'd dream of something like that, especially with a view like this."

Craig was silent a moment, moving hair from his eyes and still gazing at the sky. "What did you dream of back then? What did you want out of life?"

The melancholy in Craig's voice disarmed Kyle further, and he realized his breaths were shallow; chest tight. He felt twisted up inside. "Not a lot, I guess. I wanted to go to college, get a decent job -"

"Fall in love?"

Biting his mouth, Kyle unease heightened. Craig sounded so casual, so _calm_, but something just wasn't right. It couldn't be. 

"What do you want from me, Craig? I did what you wanted, okay? I confronted Stan, made him answer for what he did, and -"

"You let him kiss you." Lowering his head, Craig finally looked at him and his eyes were voids. Involuntarily, Kyle took a step back. 

"Craig, listen to me, he -"

"You kissed him back. Don't lie and say you didn't, Kyle. I saw you. I saw everything."

A nauseating mixture of rage and fear churned in Kyle's stomach, spurned on by the dead quality of Craig's eyes, his voice. He held up his hands. 

"You don't understand. We talked, he apologized. Really apologized. He knows what he did was wrong."

"Fucking Jesus Christ," Craig groaned, hanging his head. "Of course he apologized, Kyle. Why wouldn't he? That doesn't mean that he meant it."

Wounded, it wasn't like Kyle hadn't thought of that, but he needed to cling to something. Craig had already taken so much. "I want to believe he was telling the truth."

"Of course you do," Craig all but sneered. "Why wouldn't you? You're completely fucking blind when it comes to him."

"Yeah," Kyle said, a catch in his throat, "i guess I am, and you know what, Craig? You can't change that anymore than I can."

"You won't let yourself change. It's almost like you're happier being a gullible fool."

Turning on him, Kyle didn't hold back when he replied. "Well, if it isn't the fucking pot calling the kettle black. You're the same damn way about me, aren't you? Huh?"

Eyes narrowing, Craig rounded on him, coming close and getting into Kyle's face. "Don't stop there, Kyle. Go on. This should be interesting."

Not backing down, Kyle laughed in Craig's face, vicious and so ready to be done with this conversation; the whole affair. "You're holding onto me the same way I've been holding onto Stan, Craig. You won't let go and neither will I, and we're both pathetic for it. I can't force Stan to love me and you'll never get me to love you. I'm afraid of you, I admit that, but no part of me loves you. That will never fucking happen. Ever."

For the briefest of moments a look of true, stark devastation filtered through Craig's expression, and Kyle almost regretted his cruelty, but as quickly as it came Craig was lifting his hand; shaking now with quick, sudden rage. Kyle cowered, raising his arm to cover his face. 

"You know exactly how to hurt me," Craig whispered, words shaky. "Sometimes I think you delight in it."

"I could say the same thing about you," Kyle replied, relieved to see Craig's hand dropping slowly. "But you're wrong. I don't want to hurt anyone, I never have. I just..." he shook his head. "I just want to be okay someday. If not happy then... content. Can you understand that at all?"

"I'm tired," Craig muttered, sidestepping Kyle's question. He took his hand and began pulling him toward the house. Kyle followed, shoes whispering through the tall grass. 

Once in their room with the door shut and locked, Craig let him go; sitting on the bed and staring into space while Kyle stood by, wringing his hands and too keyed up to sit as well. He was filled with adrenaline and a potent dread, but somewhere on the outskirts of his mood was a quiet, almost perverse elation. 

Stan had _kissed_ him... he'd loved him back then. Christ, he'd apologized, and Kyle knew he meant it. He had to. Warmth awakened in him at this thought, spreading through his limbs to reach his bones; alive in his blood. Peace, such as it was, small but there, laid claim to his mind as well. 

_It probably won't last,_ he thought, closing his eyes, _but it's enough for now. It's better than nothing. _

A knock came at the door, quiet, and they both looked up. 

"Kyle?" Stan's voice came from the other side. 

"Go," Craig said, pointing. His expression was one of remote defeat. "Tell him we're about to go to bed, please."

Wordlessly, Kyle went to the door and opened it a crack. In the darkness of the hallway, he could see Stan's worried expression, his gaze like a hungry force pulling him close. He pushed the door wide and drew Kyle out; moving a little further down the corridor. 

"Are you okay?" Stan whispered, cupping Kyle's cheek. "I didn't want to leave you alone for so long, but Beatrix..."

"I understand," Kyle murmured, leaning into the touch. The same tenuous peace from before washed over him. "And I'm fine, really. We're about to go to bed."

Looking toward the door, Stan's jaw tensed. "We have another room, closer to mine and Wendy's. You don't have to stay with him tonight."

"Stan," Kyle said gently, placing his hand over the one warming his cheek. "It's okay. I promise. Craig and I will talk and then..." he smiled, bringing Stan's hand to his lips and kissing it so lightly. "You and I will talk tomorrow. There's so much to say now. Right?"

Nodding, Stan ran his thumb over Kyle's mouth. "Tomorrow, then. Early."

"As soon as the sun rises," Kyle teased, backing away. "It's late, get some sleep. I'm sure you're exhausted."

"Actually, no," Stan said fondly. "I feel more awake than ever."

"Be that as it may," Kyle replied, turning back toward the door. "It's time to say goodnight."

"Kyle?"

Kyle looked back, something in Stan's face turning his bones to water; delicious, wonderful anticipation building in him like the sun rising. He smirked. "Don't say you love me."

Stan covered his mouth, boyish and young again. He shrugged. "You always could figure me out, huh?"

"Stan, go to bed."

"Bossy thing. Fine, goodnight."

Light feet carried Kyle back into the bedroom, even as his stomach plummeted at the sight of Craig undressed down to his boxer briefs. In the subdued lighting thrown from the bedside lamp, his skin was dusky; tattoos marching down his arms. Kyle searched for the red umbrella, found it, and looked quickly away. 

"It's been a long day," Craig said, coming to Kyle and beginning to undress him; hands tender. 

Bared, Kyle shivered to feel fingertips on his skin, sliding down and exploring. He bit his lip, the same one Stan had touched so carefully, and closed his eyes. Tears built under his lids, and the peace began to leave him like summer birds departing.

Craig backed him toward the bed where Kyle lay, eyes opening slowly to see Craig turning off the light and the room being plunged into blue shadow. In the windowpane, the moon appeared frozen; a dead eye looking in as Kyle raised his arms to be shackled. 

"Not tonight," Craig murmured, lying on top of Kyle, his weight an unimaginable, suffocating force. Rising onto his elbows, he cradled Kyle's face, thumbs drifting as he gazed at him for long, unbearable moments; full and almost bursting. 

"Craig," Kyle whispered, his tone collapsing and turning into a plea; filled with every word, every fear inside of him. Something in the air twisted inside of him, and suddenly the feeling of waiting for the inevitable was clawing through his insides; a terrible knowledge waking up and finally, finally surfacing. 

It was then that he realized the life that he'd been living, the person that he was, for better or worse, was going to change in the span of one night. In an instant, really. Terror so acute that he could taste it flooded him, and his heart was leaping in his chest until he gasped. 

"Craig," he said again, and his voice was cracking like a mirror being pulverized; rendering him young and so painfully helpless. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't. Just don't, please."

"You kissed him." Craig's voice might as well have been a stranger's; Kyle had never heard it come out so detached. "He hugged you, held you. You let him."

"Please -"

"You wanted him to."

"Please!"

Craig kissed him then, and it was soft, unhurried, but Kyle could taste his intent. It had always hovered unspoken, this spectre of deep, unhinged need, and now it was thick between them. Kyle froze, eyes wide as Craig licked into him, tasting and invading-

Claiming.

He moaned, a sad, scared trickle of sound pulled from his throat; unending even after Craig had stopped. 

"Did he tell you he loved you?" Craig asked, wiping the tears collecting like rainwater under Kyle's eyes. "Just tell me, Kyle. I need to know."

Dazed, Kyle nodded. 

A splinter appeared in Craig's demeanor. He nodded, too. "And you told him you love him."

Kyle didn't respond this time. He felt mechanical and wooden, like he had already begun to flow out of his own body. He wanted to fly, to escape, and he thought of the stars out in the big, open sky - so free. 

Untouched and clean. 

"We can fix this," Craig murmured, easing a hand down to slide Kyle's underwear over his hip. "Our world is sick, but we can make it better. Just you and me."

"No," Kyle said, outright panic making him wake up, but Craig was covering him again, hand to mouth; baring him until there was nothing to hide. 

"Shhh." A rush of air between cruel lips, silencing him. Kyle arched, frantic, but he was held down again and he thought of the gun; Wendy, the baby, Stan. Asleep down the hall, right down the hall and they didn't know, they didn't know about the darkness that Kyle had brought into their home -

"I'll make it all better," Craig was saying against Kyle's skin, lips trailing lower, down, down...

Kyle choked out another plea but he was already falling under, pulled down into the coldest place he'd ever been, and when his consumption began it was like being in a trance he couldn't wake up from. 

"I'm not hurting you," Craig said after he'd crept inside, rearranging Kyle on a profound level. He sighed, pushing up against him and their skins were warm together. He nipped Kyle's throat, moving and touching and everywhere at once. "I'm doing this because I love you, Kyle. I always have."

Kyle could only look beyond him to the ceiling, barely registering sound. Reality existed in another time and place but not in that room -

"Stan hurt you, you were supposed to see that," Craig went on, sobs in his voice as he shuddered so deeply. "I'll make you see... you'll open your eyes and _see_."

But Kyle didn't, he couldn't, and finally it was too much and he was turning his head to sink into himself. Something, a fundamental force, a light, died in him at that moment, and he finally broke enough to cry; eyes slipping shut as he disappeared into warm, merciful darkness; clutching at stars that were just out of reach. 

\------

It was the darkest, longest night that Kyle could ever remember enduring, but eventually time caught up to that room, that place, and the sun was velvet on the horizon. From his place in Craig's arms, Kyle watched it slowly rise and vaguely remembered his promise to Stan. 

It didn't seem to matter anymore, though. 

He was dim and bound by trembles, detached as he stirred. Somehow he became aware of the aches in his body, deep into his bones, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was almost like the pain was happening to someone else; someone still capable of calling their body their own, but Kyle couldn't really say that anymore. 

Everything had been taken. 

"Don't go," Craig said, reaching for him when Kyle moved away. "Please."

"I need to use the bathroom," Kyle said in a dead voice; distant. Gone. "I'll come back."

Craig, in all of his mercy, hadn't chained Kyle down after he'd finished, had wanted to hold him instead; arms wrapping him up until Kyle couldn't move or breathe. He relinquished his hold now with obvious reluctance, almost like he was afraid. 

"I'll come with you."

"Please," Kyle replied, but the word carried a much different meaning than it had the night before. Less desperate. "I just need a moment. Just one moment to myself."

Craig stared at him, but finally nodded. "Don't be long."

When Kyle stood, he nearly fell, legs weak and almost useless beneath him. He limped to the bathroom where they finally gave out, and he collapsed on the floor. He heard Craig move behind him. 

"Don't!" he yelled. "Stay away!"

Holding back a sob, he began to drag himself; skin cold and puckered with goosebumps as it slid over sterile white tiles. For a moment, he stilled and stared around him, confused as to where he was, who he was -

Memories washed in then, so many at once; a tidal wave of blood and misery. Being stolen and taken to the cottage by the sea, the collar, tight on his throat, bones in the sand, the sketches on the nightstand...

And the long road kept unwinding in his head, pulling him through quiet, lonely country; back home to the Harbor, and ultimately leading him back to where all the pain began; an out of the way farmhouse that seemed to exist in a childhood daydream.

Through it all, though, was Craig and his unending, relentless obsession, his love that wasn't love because it was wrapped up in so much depravity and poison. It had consumed them both, and now there was nothing left... nothing left. 

Only this, a strange bathroom in the early morning and Kyle sitting on the floor; a broken pile of limbs with a sluggish, decaying heart. Close by was the man who'd taken him, and who'd subsequently taken everything from him. 

Slowly, Kyle came back to a semblance of himself and reached to grip the counter, too weak to stand on his own. Pulling himself, his breaths came stilted, and he could hear Craig whispering in his ear, warm and almost achingly lost -

_"I'm not hurting you."_

Retching, Kyle's hand slid when he slackened, and the contents of the counter were pouring to the floor; bottles, a towel, and the ceramic toothbrush holder. It hit the tiles and seemed to explode, shards skittering and coming to rest. He stared at them like they were figments of his fractured imagination until he was reaching out and taking the pieces into his hands. He looked into his palms and without thinking, began dragging the sharp points over his skin. 

It hurt, vaguely, he somehow managed to create pain in himself, but he barely felt it. For long moments he couldn't even see that he was bleeding, but then it was all over him; streaks of red like rich wine coursing over his white, chilled skin.

"Kyle! Stop! What are you doing?" Craig yelled, coming to him and trying to slap the pieces from his hands. Kyle dully looked up at him. 

"Trying to feel something," he said, lost and faraway. "Why can't I feel anything?"

"Oh," Craig said, gathering him close, chest heaving as Kyle leaned like a statue against him. "Don't say that. Please don't say that."

In a haze, Kyle looked down at his hand to see that he was still holding a large, jagged piece of ceramic, and through the winding country roads in his head, the oblivion, he managed to conjure one lucid thought -

Before Craig could react, Kyle lunged back and then forward, bringing the shard down as hard as he possibly could, straight into the meat of Craig's throat, and he felt a savage tear reverberating all the way up his arm. Not letting go, he twisted, and it was like he was turning a key inside of Craig, his gray eyes widening as he wordlessly mouthed. 

The blood started to fall when Kyle let go and moved back, still so static as he watched. Craig clutched at his throat, moving back until he hit the wall, and he became a frantic, feral creature trapped in a snare. 

Hypnotized, Kyle observed, but he still couldn't register what he was truly seeing, even as Craig began to scream; words of agony breaking the early morning calm and ricocheting off the cold walls around them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Teddy Bears Picnic - Jimmy Kennedy / John W. Bratton


	17. Chapter 17

** _Now he's gone away  
And I'm alone with the memory of his last look  
Vague and drawn and sad  
I see it still  
All his heartbreak in that last look  
"Why?" he must have asked  
Did I just stand and stare in icy silence?  
What was I to do?  
What can one do  
When a love affair is over, over?_ **

** _\- How Insensitive, Astrud Gilberto_ **

* * *

_Dear diary -_

_Okay, that looks stupid. I mean, I know you're a diary, or at least I can call you that if i want, but it doesn't really feel right for me. _

_Journal?_

_No. _

_Log?_

_Ugh, no. I'm not piloting the Starship Enterprise here, I'm just trying to follow the advice of my therapist (finally)._

_Whatever. Screw it. I won't call you anything for now, okay? Maybe I'll give you a name in the future, when we've gotten to know each other better. What do you think?_

_Anyway, I guess I should introduce myself, huh? I mean, I'm about to bare my soul to you, I should at least tell you who I am, right?_

_Right. _

_My name is Kyle. Kyle Broflovski. I'm almost 29 years old, a Gemini, and Jewish. I was born in New Jersey (a fact I'm not exactly proud of), and I'm recording my thoughts because my therapist recommended it -_

_Oh, didn't you know? I recently went through a Traumatic Event. _

_Rather, I went through a series of Traumatic Events. _

_For the longest time, ever since i started therapy months and months ago, I hesitated to write down anything, because that would require me to remember, and really, that's the last thing i want to do, but I've come to realize I'm going to remember what happened regardless. The memories live in me, and on me, they feed relentlessly, so I might as well try to make sense of them, shouldn't I?_

_But that's just the thing, and i don't think my therapist _

_(Dr. Boyer)_

_will ever understand. What happened will never make sense to me, but I can't pretend it didn't occur - my nightmares won't allow me that luxury. _

_Which is why I'm writing in you so late tonight. Or early, I guess. The sun isn't up yet, but it'll rise soon, and I'll have another night of broken sleep under my belt. I don't know why I even try anymore, to sleep that is; even with my sleep meds I can't seem to relax. I can fall asleep but I can't stay asleep because the nightmares always come, rain or shine and everything in between; they always arrive uninvited. _

_I keep seeing his face the way it looked that last day in Stan's bathroom, and the blood is just pouring from us both. I can still feel the way his skin split under my hand when I stabbed his neck, and his gasping while he struggled to breathe; so shocked and his eyes, oh, his eyes -_

_They were so wide and surprised. But why was he surprised? I still don't understand. He couldn't honestly think that my reaction wasn't a possibility, right? He'd just gotten done... he'd..._

_I can still feel him inside me. Just like it was yesterday, he's there, and I want to tear off my skin and scream until I stop existing, but I know that isn't an option. I've taken too many scalding hot showers since that night, and as much as i scrub myself the feeling of cleanliness I'm craving never comes. His hands are still on me, inside me, all over me, and the collar is cold around my throat like a noose._

_I can't tell you how many times I've revisited the cottage by the sea in my dreams. You know how that story Rebecca starts, by Daphne Du Maurier?_

> _‘Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me. There was a padlock and a chain upon the gate. I called in my dream to the lodge-keeper, and had no answer, and peering closer through the rusted spokes of the gate I saw that the lodge was uninhabited.’_

_It's like that, but decidedly less romantic or poetic. I stand in front of that white cottage in my dreams, and I can see the pines and smell the ocean. Then somehow I'm inside of the room I was kept in, back in that large bed, and I can feel the chains around my wrists and ankles, and I can see Craig's face. _

_You know, that's the first time I've written that name since everything came to a head. It's weird seeing it in black and white. _

_It's even weirder knowing that Craig is still out there, that he survived, and he's living and breathing while I'm sitting here in my parent's home writing in you. _

_Oh, I should've mentioned that sooner, I suppose, that Craig lived through the attack, but I've always been good at burying the lede._

_It would seem that Craig has phenomenal luck. Not only did I only nick his anterior jugular, but he had the presence of mind not to pull out the shard of ceramic in his neck. If he had, I'm told, he would've bled out, but no, he kept it in place and that was his fucking saving grace. _

_He was in the hospital for a good long time, though. But then again so was I._

_I had a laundry list of maladies at the end of the day -_

_Malnutrition _

_Vitamin D deficiency _

_PTSD_

_Sexual trauma _

_(I tore when he -)_

_No, I don't want to talk about that yet. _

_I'll just tell you what happened that morning, okay? I still feel removed from those events, like they happened to someone else, but from what i can recall _

_\- which is everything -_

_Stan and Wendy came to the door because they could hear Craig screaming, and when i let them in I couldn't really speak. I pointed toward the bathroom and when they found him Wendy just started to cry, and Stan looked so blank and confused. The ambulance was called and the cops, and the whole time I stared into space and felt cold - very cold - and I can remember Wendy covering me with a blanket, like she couldn't bear to look at me. _

_There were flashing red and blue lights not too long after, and Craig being loaded onto a stretcher, and all the while he looked for me, even when they covered his mouth with the oxygen mask, and there was so much blood. It was everywhere, like a red river had found its way into Stan's guest bathroom. _

_I fought when they loaded me onto a stretcher too, and Stan talked me down in his stilted, clumsy way... held my hand, and Wendy stood back from the fray with their baby in her arms. I wanted to apologize to her for being so much trouble but at the time I couldn't find my voice. _

_Later, I was told by the doctors at Hell's Pass that I was suffering from shock -_

_My mind finally snapped, I guess. But for the longest time I couldn't speak...i couldn't even cry. All I could do was lie in my hospital bed and endure being examined and prodded and --_

_So many hands and people and faces, all at once. So much after being hidden away for so long. I was afraid but I didn't know how to tell anyone, so I kind of faded away for a time. I allowed the treatments and the needles in my arms, the doctors looking between my legs -_

_I took to having accidents at night, wetting the bed because I was too afraid to get up, and I felt so ashamed. My appetite was nonexistent and I refused to eat until I could count my ribs, see the veins nestled stark under my skin, and they had to feed me intravenously. _

_I can remember the metallic taste from the IVs in the back of my throat, and at one point I was so thin I developed lanugo; my body's desperate attempt to keep me warm. I flitted in and out of reality and couldn't really register what I was seeing and hearing, always expecting Craig to come through the door any moment to shackle me again, or push me down and lie on top of me - suffocating me. _

_At one point, my parents came to visit, and when my mother saw me she immediately wrapped me up in her arms -_

_The first thing I noticed was that she still wore a Midnight in Paris perfume, and I resisted at first, but there's something about being hugged by your mother when you really need it - I gave in - and when she started to cry so did i, and some of the ice inside of me cracked. _

_I began to thaw. _

_And, oh, it hurt. It hurt so much to start feeling again. _

_She kept asking me why I hadn't called, why I hadn't tried to contact them, even once, and I had a hard time telling her how ashamed I was. _

_But I'm still ashamed. I feel it in my bones, in my blood... the deep, abiding shame of being victimized and broken down until I became a completely different person. _

_The police had similar questions for me, of course. A myriad of questions. An onslaught of invasive prying after they'd heard I'd come out of my stupor._

_"Walk us through it from the beginning, Kyle. Tell us everything you remember-"_

_"How do you know Craig? We understand you went to school together?"_

_"You mean to tell us he had you wear a shock collar?"_

_"He held you hostage; what did that entail exactly?"_

"What did he do to you?"

_So many questions - one right after the other - until I wanted to scream and I did, and I couldn't stop, and I was being sedated. I can hear the doctor telling the police to leave, that they were taking things too fast, and the detectives were obviously annoyed -_

_"We can't prosecute the guy that did this to him if he can't talk about it."_

_Eventually, I did talk, but it was like pulling teeth, and the detectives were frustrated with me. My mother held my hand the whole time, glaring at them, and my father looked out the window, stoic as always. Ike had flown in from Seattle and he stood by, dark eyes wet with tears. _

_I hated myself the whole time. I'd made them put their lives on hold to deal with my misery. It just didn't feel right. _

_But they got me to talk, and they garnered their pound of flesh, and I helped drive the nails into Craig's coffin. Such as it was. _

_He hasn't gone to trial yet, but he's being kept under lock and key, so i guess i should be thankful for that. _

_But I'm not, and I hate myself for that too. I just can't seem to muster up the rage that I should given the circumstances. _

_Mostly I just feel sad. Sad and lost. _

_Lonely, too. But I'm starting to see that I've been lonely for a very long time; I just didn't want to dwell on it. _

_Stan was a godsend while I was in the hospital, coming to visit me almost every day, despite his responsibilities. He didn't understand at first, what had happened, why i did what I did, but over time he started to, and he was furious. With every new detail he learned, his anger and concern became stronger until he was visiting every day, going so far as to pick me up when I was finally discharged._

_The deal was that I had to begin eating my meals regularly, without being coaxed, and agree to take medication and start therapy in order for the doctors to let me go, and i did. By that point I was tired of being trapped in bed, staring at the same walls -_

_It was like being back with Craig, having no control over my existence. _

_It was also decided that I'd move home with my parents until I got back on my feet. _

_"Back on my feet." Whatever the fuck that means anymore. _

_But Stan was there to fetch me at the end of it all, amazed that my mother was able to stay away long enough to let someone else step in. He helped me pack my bags and pushed my wheelchair to the exit, something that embarrassed me - I already felt so helpless. That only abated slightly when he took my hand and helped me into his truck, when I stumbled trying to lift myself into the cab. _

_"You'll get there," he'd said, so cheerful and glossing over how humiliated I was after all was said and done, after everything. _

_When we got to my parents house, at the old house on the old street from childhood, he carried my bags inside and stayed for cocoa - at my mother's insistence, of course. She also made a point of asking Stan about his daughter, and he'd blushed and looked away. _

_I found out not too long after that he and Wendy were separated. She'd moved out of their house on the farm and taken Beatrix, but she and Stan were sharing custody until they'd "figured things out". He'd revealed this to me after he'd had too much ale one night, and then he'd looked at me with such a strange expression. My heart had fluttered but I'd pretended not to notice at the time - I was too tired and concerned and sad to try and figure out what it meant, but i felt so bad for Stan. He missed his daughter, he missed Wendy -_

_He seemed as lost as I did. _

_I'm still lost, though. I suppose I always will be, won't I? The world will always feel too large and open, too unwelcoming. Craig can be locked away for the rest of his life but I'll always be looking for his face in the crowd. _

_And a sick, small part of myself will almost want to find it. The part that came to rely on the chains and collar, the order, the rules -_

_The part that almost, almost fell in love with his captor._

_Like I said, I still feel him inside of me, and I suppose he'll always be there, and I'll always get the sensation that I'm being watched. _

"Kyle? You awake?"

Startled, Kyle looked up from the notebook he'd been laboriously slaving over; every word being set down like it had been wrenched from him. Wiping his face, he realized he'd been crying softly, and it made him want to hide, but instead he shut the book slowly and stood, clumsily going to his bedroom door, opening it, and peering out. 

Ike stood there, holding two plates, and smiling in that mischievous way that made him look like a little kid again. 

"I swiped some pumpkin pie. You hungry?"

Sighing, Kyle leaned against the doorframe and rubbed his face. "Dude, it's after 3 am. It's a little late for pie, isn't it?"

"It's never too late for pie. Let me in."

Soon they were sitting on the floor and eating their mother's homemade, famous pumpkin pie; crowned with clouds of Cool Whip. Leaning back against Kyle's bed, Ike looked around before giving his brother a teasing look. 

"I'm surprised she let you redecorate, man. This place was a Kyle shrine for the longest time."

Kyle shrugged before cutting off another chunk of the pie, holding it up but not putting it in his mouth. He looked around as well, taking note of the walls that lacked his childhood relics; old band posters, photos, and other paraphernalia from years long gone. 

"I think she's starting to realize I'm an adult, you know? I'm not the nine year old in the Terrence and Philip pajamas anymore."

Ike was silent as he poked at his pie, eyebrows furrowed. He appeared pensive and more than a little melancholy. "Dad told me your condo finally sold."

Setting down his fork, Kyle bent his legs and rested his chin on his knees, his anxiety slowly releasing adrenaline into his blood. He could remember the green water, the smell of salt, the busy city outside of his window -

He closed his eyes and tried to think of the nice times, walking home from work and listening to music, being so proud of being on his own, an adult, an upstanding, contributing member of society - 

And then he could see himself in the condo with Craig, being chained and held captive, his haven, his home, turned into a hub of secrets and quiet fear. 

"Yeah," he finally said. "I took a loss, but i can live with it."

Ike hummed, laying his fork aside as well. "I wish I'd seen it. I bet it was nice."

Kyle looked at him and smiled, seeing him as the little boy in the blue onesie once more; inquisitive and precocious. "I should've invited you to visit. I'm really sorry I didn't."

Ike laughed but it lacked something, like it was weighed down. "You were busy, I get that."

"Not that busy," Kyle muttered. "I was just...i don't know, too wrapped up in my bullshit to remember what really mattered."

"But now," he added, nodding, "i think i have a better idea of what should be my focus. At least I like to think I do."

"You don't have to answer this if you don't want to," ike replied, toying with a loose thread in the rug, not looking up, "but why wouldn't you come home? I mean back here? There were so many holidays that mom just looked so -"

He stopped and held up a hand. "I'm not trying to guilt you, seriously. We just missed you and I was afraid we did something to make it so you didn't want to see us." He paused before continuing softly. "I thought I did something."

It was like fingers squeezing his heart to hear his brother say something like that, and Kyle wanted to hug him, but he knew the gesture would embarrass them both; maybe later. Instead, he reached out and gave him a noogie. "Stop being ridiculous, fool. You didn't do anything... in fact, you had nothing to do with it."

"How was I supposed to know that?" Frowning, Ike looked at Kyle for a split second and then darted his eyes away. "Sorry. Mom told me not to -"

"Oh, here we go, she told you not to upset me, right?" Kyle asked, one hand clenching in the material of his sleep pants. 

"Well, yeah," Ike replied, looking sheepish. "She said you've been through enough, and she's right." Finally, he met Kyle's eyes. "Right?"

Kyle couldn't help but laugh, but it was dry and humorless. "It's funny how quickly you can feel like a kid again, you know? Mom's good at that. She always has been."

Ike smiled. "She means well." And then, almost reluctantly. "But, yeah, you're right."

"She's taken care of me, though, these past few months," Kyle admitted, softening. "In the way only she can."

Biting his lip, he pressed his face to his knees. "I've never seen her cry so much, dude. I'm a fucking monster."

Silence, and they could hear the cold wind rattling outside, like the breath of an unseen, hungry force; an entity fighting to claw its way into the warm house. Ike poked Kyle's leg. "You aren't the monster here, and you know it. You know who that is, and he's far away. He'll never be able to touch you again."

Scraping at his face, Kyle looked down to see the faint white scars on his forearm, and he was instantly transported back to that morning in Stan's bathroom, with the tiles cold beneath him and the aches so deep in his skin, the blood trailing falling bright red -

"I want to believe that's true," he murmured, ashamed of the raw, childish fear in his voice. "I try to tell myself that but it's hard to believe it."

"Well, believe it. That fucker is going away for life. I mean, after what he did to you, not to mention killing that kid -"

"Please," Kyle said, covering his face, and he could see the dead boy's eyes in the darkness, always there and always silently pleading. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Sorry, sorry," ike said quickly, "I'm just saying -"

"Boys? You're still up?" The door opened then to reveal a terry cloth robed Mrs. Broflovski, her bright red hair up in curlers and a Biore pore strip on her nose. She studied them for a moment before her eyes fell on the two plates on the floor. She looked scandalized. "That pie was for tomorrow!"

Ike at least had the wherewithal to look properly chastened, looking at his mother with his wide brown eyes; his Bambi expression. "I only took two small pieces, ma. There's like, three pies left."

"But it's Thanksgiving and we're having so many people over, and -" she stopped, peering at Kyle before melting like sugar in a stream of warm water. "Oh, bubbe, did you like it? You almost finished it, the whole thing."

Feeling warm, Kyle couldn't help but smile to see her so pleased, and he was truly her little boy again. "Yeah, ma. Your pumpkin pie is always good, and I haven't had it in so long -"

"I wonder why," she huffed, coming into the room and closing the door softly. She stopped to listen, seemingly pleased when she heard little skitters in the night. "It's snowing. I knew it would snow tonight."

"What? No way," ike said, standing to look out the window. He whistled. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Ike, language," his mother said, though it seemed half-hearted as she came to sit next to Kyle, reaching out to brush the curls from his face, adjust his disheveled pajamas. "You aren't cold, are you?"

"Ma," he sighed, allowing her attentions. "I'm fine, stop worrying."

"Fine, fine, fine, you always say that," she replied, still fussing over him. "Let your mother decide when you're fine, huh?" She stopped and looked at him, her green eyes, so like his own, crinkling as she suddenly grabbed him and held him close; head on her pillowy bosom. "Oh, I'm just so glad you're here for the holidays! It's never the same without you!"

He groaned, wanting to fight but going limp in her hold, catching ike's eye before hugging her back. "I'll even help cook. Would that make you happy?"

"What, you're gonna put the cranberry sauce on a plate?" Ike asked, looking out the window again, his form silhouetted by the cold, white glow of a streetlamp; the flakes of snow whirling in the night. 

"You don't have to do a thing, bubbelah," she said, pressing her face to his cheek. "Oh, the family's going to be so happy to see you. Your uncle Murray was asking about you just the other day."

Kyle froze at that. "You haven't told them anything, have you? About what happened?"

Pulling back, she looked into his face and Kyle hurt to see how tired and old she appeared; far beyond her sixty-six years, though truth be told she'd only admit to fifty-nine of them. 

"Kyle, baby, they've read the papers."

Kyle scowled. "Everyone has. I'm a sideshow around here, aren't i?" Covering his face, he took a breath. "God, ma, I'm sorry. This was supposed to be your time. You and dad getting away and going to the Canary Islands or whatever, and now you're looking after your useless, neurotic son -"

"You stop that," she interrupted fiercely, reaching out to hold him close, and once again he was engulfed in the cloud of her perfume. Beneath it, he could feel the steady thump of her heart, and not for the first time he wished that that sound, that beautiful force, could go on forever. He gulped, eyes burning. 

"We want you here, bubbeh," she murmured, her voice thick, "we've always wanted you here, and I'd give up a million vacations to make sure you were okay. You're my baby, my little boy, and nothing is more important than that."

"Not even me?" Ike asked playfully, coming over and sitting beside them; he leaned into Kyle, his weight like a balm as he struggled not to break down at his mother's words. 

"Oh, hush," she replied tremulously, but at least now she was smiling. She put her arm around Ike and hugged them both close. "You're both the light of my life, as schmaltzy as that sounds. Your father would agree with me if he were awake." She sighed, kissing Kyle's curls. "All we want is for you both to be happy and safe... loved, too. That's all we've ever wanted."

Kyle laughed, but it was tender. "You're right, ma. You're giving into schmaltz right now. Dial it back before you get lost, huh?"

"Always with the cheek," she said. "You'll never grow out of it."

"What are you doing up so late, anyway?" Ike asked, yawning behind his hand. "You and dad went to bed hours ago, I thought."

Sitting up, she rolled her neck, letting out a soft breath as she did so. Righting herself, she looked between her sons before softening, lifting her hands to touch both of their cheeks. "I don't sleep a whole lot, to be honest. Nighttime can be hard for me."

"We have that in common," Kyle admitted, wanting to take the weariness from her eyes, her posture. 

She nodded. "When you get older, you seem to need less sleep, I don't know. I have a lot on my mind. Tomorrow, for example. Oy, all those people and the house being a mess -"

"Stop fishing for compliments, ma. The house is spotless and you know it. Aunt Cheryl will be so jealous," Kyle commented, not fooled for a moment. 

His mother laughed, pleased, and kissed him again. "You say that now."

Kyle, warmly calm, at least for the moment, sleepily looked up at the window and caught his breath to see grey, fathomless eyes lost in a white face peering through the glass; dead-focused and cutting into him. He seized up, grabbing at his mother before he could stop himself. 

"Jesus, oh God," he cried out, hand pushed to his mouth; trying to stifle the fear, the breathless, painful clenching of his muscles. He began to shake, aching in places far beneath his skin, secret and damaged. 

He's not there! It's not real!

He's not there!

He's not there!

_He's not there!_

"Kyle?" his mother called to him through the haze gently, bringing Kyle back from the edge of fear; that black, empty place inside of his mind that he had to struggle not to fall into. "Kyle, baby, it's okay. We're here."

Taking deep, ragged breaths, Kyle looked at Ike and his mother without really seeing them for a moment; faces distorted and replaced with nightmares instead. He blinked and tried to anchor himself in the present, the way his therapist stressed, attempting to reverse his thoughts and remind himself constantly -

_The lion is not in the room, Kyle._

_No, he's still in my head_, Kyle thought, almost beginning to laugh at the unsettling truth of the idea. Shaking his head, he tried to rearrange his features into an expression that would placate his family. 

"My eyes are playing tricks on me again," he said, glancing again at the window to see the glass blessedly clear of visions in the night, revealing the falling, peaceful snow instead. 

Thanksgiving at home after so long proved to be an exercise in endurance and patience for Kyle, wading through the pitying looks he tolerated and the curious ones he absolutely loathed. Still, he made conversation and ate with his family, crushed among the warm bodies and din, really to make his mother happy more than anything else. 

At one point, though, after the pie had been sliced and passed out, his aunt snoozing on the couch and the football game blaring in the living room, Kyle had reached his limit and needed to get away. 

"Stan's having a little get-together out at the farm today, asked if I'd stop by," he said, pulling on his coat while his mother stood by with a worried face; wringing her hands. 

"You're going back there?" she asked. "But I thought, well..."

"Gotta face it sometime, ma," Kyle replied, trying to sound more confident than he really was. "Besides, he's talking about selling the place, anyway. He always hated it."

She nodded, mouth pinched. "Especially now, I imagine."

Kyle's father approached them then, groggy from too much indulgence and adopting the air he always seemed to when regarding his son these days; eyes soft, careful. So fucking careful, like he needed to handle his own child like a bird with two broken wings. 

"Heading out?" he asked, placing a hand on Kyle's shoulder. 

"Yeah, gonna see some friends, clear my head."

"You'll text when you get to wherever you're going?"

"He's going to Stanley's farm, Gerald," Sheila said, her tone suggesting that the farm was on par with Sodom and Gomorrah. 

Gerald sighed, squeezing Kyle gently. "He's going to have to face these sorts of things eventually, hon."

"But still -"

"Be safe," he interjected gently, letting go to put an arm around his fretting wife instead. "Call us if you need us."

In the past, Kyle would've overlooked his sudden need to hug his father, would've chastised himself for being overly sentimental, but not now. After Craig, he had slowly come to realize just how quickly things could change, that some opportunities didn't always present themselves again. 

"I won't be home late," Kyle said, coming forward and putting his arms around his old man, relishing his wool sweater under his fingertips, how very real and connected he felt in that moment. He closed his eyes and just breathed, taking in the sensation. 

The farm was a picture postcard when Kyle approached it not too long after, his BMW navigating the slush and ice; the serpentine road winding through snow-laden country. It shone like satin under the falling sun, covered over with violet shadows. In the distance, the farmhouse was like a boat on the sea, golden lamplight resting in many of the windows.

Stan walked out onto the porch as Kyle climbed out of the car, whistling low when he was within hearing distance. 

"Nice," he commented, touching the hood of the car. "When'd you get it back?"

"Just a few days ago," Kyle replied, glancing at the car again, regarding it like one would an artifact from another time. In many ways, that was exactly what it was. "My father figured I'd want to sell it or trade it in, but, I don't know... having it back doesn't bother me."

Craig never touched it - tainted it - that was probably why. 

Kyle didn't mention that, though, choosing instead to move toward the house, teeth chattering when a stiff, brisk wind passed through. 

Inside, there was a fire on the hearth, crackling red, and many people Kyle hadn't seen in years. He ignored the thump of his heart in his ears when he stepped into that place again, every corner, every shadow seemingly filled with whispers. He looked toward the stairs but couldn't consider climbing them yet, traveling up and up toward that white bathroom with the blood littering the tiles -

"Kyle, dude, you look great!" a husky voice broke through the memories and suddenly a tanned face was swimming into focus, framed with shaggy blonde hair. The eyes were light blue and fairly lit up inside, like two warm lanterns. 

Kyle groped inside himself for the "normal" reaction to all this, and was frustrated that it didn't immediately come. No, he had to fight back the urge to take a quick step backwards, instead staying in place and smiling carefully. 

"Kenny," he breathed, a genuine warmth flooding his chest when the panic died down, becoming bearable. "God, it's been forever."

"Right?" Kenny laughed almost like he was giddy, and Kyle felt his heart do a strange little flip, like it was tripping on itself. He opened his arms, suddenly shy, it seemed. "Is it okay if I give you a hug? I mean, I know that's asking a lot, considering what happened, but -"

"Kenny, you're being ridiculous," Kyle said, hugging him first, his stomach flipping now, fluttery, but it was a good feeling -

A healthy, _needed_ feeling. 

Stan stood by, watching, smiling but Kyle couldn't help but think he looked a little sad, too. Wanting to take the melancholy from him, Kyle let go of Kenny and looked around, raising a brow. 

"What, no Cartman? Didn't you tell me he was coming to visit his mom for Thanksgiving?"

Taking the bait, Stan allowed himself a grin before answering. "Seriously, dude? You really think I'd make you hang out with Cartman after everything you've been through?"

The evening unwound in a soft blur of flickering firelight and alcohol being poured, Kyle anxious but grateful to be back in the company of so many people from his past, reminiscing and waxing nostalgic. There were moments when the questions became a little too invasive, a little too close to the core of himself, but he tried to be polite, and when he'd become overwhelmed Kyle would excuse himself to the bathroom to catch his breath. 

It wasn't long before the party had broken up and Kyle found himself alone with Stan and Kenny, invoking a sense that time truly could reverse itself; rendering them almost children again as they sat and talked, Kyle sipping wine and staring into the fire's core.

"I'm sorry about you and Wends, man," Kenny said, voice softly slurred from the beer he'd drank. He brushed a hand through the wispy hair on his nape, artfully draped on the floor like an old hound dog. "That's a real fucking shame."

"Eh, nothing's set in stone," Stan replied, more tucked into himself, arms crossed. He briefly looked up to catch Kyle's eye before the contact was gone, making something in Kyle's chest catch. "We're trying to talk things out, but she's hurt. She needs time."

Kenny was quiet for a moment, sparks popping and collapsing like stars in the fireplace. The light played over his face, highlighting his cheekbones; the smooth planes of his skin. 

"What happened, if you don't mind my asking."

Glancing up, Kenny caught Kyle watching him, smiling slow when Kyle skipped his focus away hurriedly. Stan sighed and set his ale down carefully on the coffee table. 

"Let's just say i finally came clean with her about something that happened a long time ago." Taking a breath, he added, "she told me she'd always suspected, but didn't want to believe."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and shoulders drawn up, tensed. Kyle fought the urge to go to him. 

"She also said she couldn't go on being my second choice, told me to figure out what i really wanted."

Kenny raised his eyebrows, clearly confused. "Second choice? Who else is there?"

Now Kyle and Stan stared at each other fully, Kyle's heart aching and longing, almost sobbing, in his chest. 

"They know who they are," Stan murmured. 

Kenny hummed, leaning back to rest his weight on his hands. Reaching out, he softly poked Kyle's leg. "What about you, huh? You planning on staying in South Park?"

Rubbing his chest, the throbbing abating but always, always there, Kyle considered this question. 

"No, I don't think so. I mean, I don't want to go back to the east coast, but I don't really feel like i belong here either."

"You could," Stan said quietly. 

A burn gathered in Kyle's throat then, but he drank wine to ease it. "Sometimes i feel like there really isn't a place for me anywhere... not unless I force my way in and just ruin things." He sighed. "I want to find a place that, I don't know, feels open to me, like I'm meant to be there. Like it was waiting for me to find it all along."

Kyle could feel Stan staring at him now, the sensation like heat on his cheek, but he didn't turn his head. He wanted to, but something in him, a part that had started to wake up in therapy, after everything, told him to protect his heart -

To let go just a little. 

"Craig's trial will be starting soon," he finally said, the thought alone, saying that name aloud, enough to make him feel like fingers were trailing his skin - from the inside. 

"I still can't believe that crazy fuck didn't die," Stan said bitterly. "He should have."

"He has the luck of a devil," Kyle said wryly. 

"So he's pleading not guilty, huh?" Kenny snorted. "He's got balls."

"I think they're going with an insanity defense," Kyle said, knowing on some level that Craig embodied the psychopathic, but not believing for one moment that that made him incapable of controlling his actions. No, Craig had always been in control to a certain degree -

Craig could rationalize everything he did, would swear that it was all done for _love_. 

"It's just a ploy to see you again," Stan muttered. "He's clutching at straws. He should've just pleaded guilty, but this way he can still control you; keep you two connected."

Looking down at his hands, hands that were already beginning to shake, Kyle didn't want to confess that Craig didn't need to play games with the courts in order to keep him on a short leash. He'd learned the hard way that the horror in his head wasn't going to stop just because Craig was far away - it lived in him, fusing and warping and feeding. 

"I think i could learn to live with what happened a little easier if he hadn't been so kind sometimes," he murmured, moving to sit on the floor next to Kenny, closer to the light. "People hear my story and assume that I was being beaten and starved every day, but it wasn't like that."

The tears came then, the ones that were always waiting to fall, right beneath the surface of it all; warm but not soothing. He thought of Craig's devotion, the broken look on his face that last, bloody morning -

He had looked so _betrayed_. 

The guilt that flared in him made him feel sick, but he breathed through it.

In, out. In, out. Sometimes that was all he could do, breathe and focus on each breath as it came. When he felt Kenny wrap an arm around him, Kyle didn't resist, moving to hide his face against him when he started to sob softly. 

The night was deep when Kenny eventually took his leave, holding onto Kyle a little bit longer than was truly necessary when they said goodbye. 

"You have my number now," he said quietly in Kyle's ear, lips close, "i expect you to use it, okay?"

Warmth bloomed in him as Kyle promised to keep in touch, and a small voice in his brain, somewhere small and serene amidst the chaos, assured him that he was telling the truth; not just making a promise he had no intention of keeping. 

Standing on the porch, he and Stan watched the tail lights of Kenny's old truck fade into the darkness for a good long while, until Stan was turning to him and touching his cheek so carefully, fingers straying to caress.

"Stay for a while?" he asked, a thread of true, raw loneliness in his words. 

It wasn't as if the two of them hadn't been alone together in the months since Kyle's liberation, but now it felt different, a shift happening over time that Kyle hadn't noticed until it'd already taken hold. They sat on the couch now, close but not too close, quiet and thoughtful as the moments ticked by.

"You're really thinking of leaving South Park?" Stan asked, hands clasped in his lap.

"Eventually."

Bowing his head, Stan seemed to have to collect himself. "You should stay here tonight."

Somehow, Kyle had been expecting this suggestion, and while a part of him was thrilled, swooning inwardly like a dream was being realized, he didn't jump to accept. Instead, he smoothed the hair from Stan's forehead, making a point not to let the touch linger.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Stan."

Stan looked at him, wounded. With the fire at his back, his face was shadowed, but that didn't hide his obvious hurt. "How can you say that?"

Kyle tried to be gentle when he replied. "Can you tell me why you want me to stay with you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Turning to face him completely, Stan slid close, their legs touching. 

Kyle held his breath, waiting. Stan studied him until there was a small break in his demeanor. 

"It isn't, is it? Am I asking for too much from you?"

Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Kyle could feel a sudden pressure welling inside of him, like water rising. 

"I've been working through a lot of the past lately, talking it out, trying to make sense of it, and..." he looked away, gnawing furiously at the inside of his cheek. "I'm starting to realize that I turned my feelings for you into something I can't even recognize anymore. I know I love you, Stan, I'll always love you, but I let myself become blind over it all."

"I... punished myself, holding onto you, the past...i missed out on so much growth and potential because I refused to move on. I also," he added, clenching up the way he always did when he considered brutal truths, "well, I also allowed you to treat me pretty badly. I have to take ownership for my part in everything, and I'm not saying it's all your fault, but -"

He looked up, straight into Stan's eyes, still so pretty and disarming. Kyle was lost in them for a moment. "I deserved better from you, Stan. That's one thing I know for a fact."

"Kyle," he said, and the tears were building in his words, cracked and broken. "Don't you think i know that?"

Cupping Kyle's cheek, Stan leaned his forehead against Kyle's and just became still. Kyle could feel the pulse in his fingertips, smell the warmth and spice of his cologne; the alcohol he'd been drinking. They stayed that way for a time until Stan moved, nuzzling close to kiss Kyle's mouth, and sighing, he allowed this. 

Behind his closed eyes, Kyle became lost to the feeling of being in Stan's arms, wandering in the thrall of his touch; desire and want and need pulling him down into a fantasy he'd nursed and fed until it had all but consumed him. He imagined staying and spending the night with Stan, waking up beside him in the cold light of morning -

He could see the days unfolding that they could spend together, and maybe, just maybe they could be happy, scratching out an existence between them that could shut the door on so much collective, abiding pain and regret. 

Kyle could envision it all, these possibilities, but that didn't mean he was ready to accept them. What's more, he didn't even know if he truly wanted any of it anymore. 

That was enough to make him break the kiss and lean away, coming back to himself and feeling the heat under his clothes, mouth lightly throbbing from being touched so needfully; so thoroughly. 

"I better go," he said softly, dizzy when he pressed Stan's hand, automatically feeling colder when he pulled away and stood.

Colder, but stronger, somehow. He held to this, wanting to fan the sensation like a tiny, fledgling flame. Maybe it would help to carry him home. 

Stan didn't protest as he watched Kyle begin to gather his things, slipping on his coat and readying to brave the frozen night. His eyes said the words his mouth couldn't -

_"Please stay. I don't want to be alone tonight."_

Kyle couldn't blame him, this fear. After all, wasn't that a universal truth; the cornerstone of the human condition?

Nobody wants to be alone after all is said and done. 

Kyle had pulled on his gloves when he noticed a book thrown haphazardly on a side table. He picked it up, a profound pulse of fear ringing in him when he saw Craig's name on the cover, and under it, the word 'Beloved'. He held it up for Stan to see. 

"You're reading it?"

Stan shrugged, coming over to stand beside him. "After you told me he wrote it about you I couldn't help myself. I didn't get very far before I threw it against the wall, though."

Kyle smiled, a small, humorless gesture. More a mockery of amusement than anything else. "He had a jump in sales after he was arrested. Did I tell you that already?"

"No, but I can't say I'm surprised. People smell blood in the water and they can't help wanting to find its source."

"Fucking jackals," Kyle muttered, stroking his hand over the book's cover. He paused, tentative and shy before asking, "you mind if i borrow this?"

"Not at all, but why would you want to?"

"Maybe it'll help me understand, just a little," Kyle replied, thoughtful while studying the book. It was surreal looking at himself on the glossy surface; at least, Craig's version of him. It was akin to looking through the other's eyes, crazed and always fanatically vigilant. 

"Take it," Stan said, opening the door when Kyle began to move toward it. "We'll burn it together when you're done."

"You know, I might just take you up on that," Kyle almost laughed, cradling the book in his hands. "It's just part one in the series, though."

"We'll have a bonfire, then." Looking out toward the long road winding away into the darkness, Stan frowned. "You gonna be okay out there?"

Kyle touched Stan's mouth, smiling slowly before stepping back. "I'll find my way."

"Your happy ending?" 

Shaking his head, Kyle gave him a look before tapping the book against his hand. "I think we both know there's no such thing as a happy ending, dude; at least, not in situations like this. Believe me, if it did exist, I'd never stop looking for it."

Tilting his head upward, Stan breathed in the clean air, face awash in the soft glow of the house. "Maybe that's the whole point. What do you think?"

"I think we're getting ready to fall into cliches and platitudes, which, frankly, I just don't have the energy for, so let's say goodnight." Softening, Kyle kissed his cheek, could hear the music in his head when they were close; tremulous like a waltz played in a room filled with candlelight. "If you don't mind."

Still seemingly unconvinced, Stan accepted this answer with obvious resignation. "Call me tomorrow."

"I promise, now get inside and warm up." Turning, Kyle listened for the sound of the door closing behind him before he hurried toward his car, afraid of the cold but more fearful of the things potentially waiting in the dark; out beyond the lamplight's reach. Once inside, he stared at the book until his eyes unfocused, heavy now as they filled with moisture. 

Craig was so far away, in body, locked away where his hands couldn't reach; the far-searching power of his ravenous eyes, but Kyle could feel him. All around, a spirit, a force; the overwhelming presence that inhabited Kyle's mind was so terribly strong. 

It was everywhere. It became even more noticeable as Kyle considered the book, red-covered and heavy in his hands; taking on a life all its own. 

The fingers that lifted the cover trembled, slowly sliding over the pages as they turned, until Kyle found something that caught his attention, the book's dedication. Shivering, it was as if Craig was beside him as he read the words, whispering into his ear across so many miles apart:

** _For the one I adore, even though i may never get a chance to show you how I feel, at least not in a way that could make you understand; this book will speak for me when my own meager words fail. I love you, I will always love you -_ **

** _My one true beloved. _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!!!
> 
> Wow, do my eyes deceive me? Did I actually finish a story? No flipping way. XD
> 
> I sincerely want to thank everyone who joined me on this crazy ride; really and truly, I wouldn't have found the courage and inspiration to keep writing it without you guys and I just wanna say that you're all the best. ❤
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if anyone's disappointed that this didn't have a Hollywood storybook ending but I really didn't see it playing out that way. Kyle's picking up the pieces, he's healing, and speaking from a personal place, that's a long, arduous trek; an upward climb, but not insurmountable by any means. 
> 
> He'll be okay, though; it'll just take a little time. Ultimately, I wanted him to save himself bc the world wasn't gonna do it for him. 
> 
> So, I dedicate this story to survivors and dreamers; you know who you are, and i hope you prevail. All my love. ❤
> 
> Thanks for reading, you guys!!


End file.
